


Lost & Found

by Buffo827, TheArtOfSuicide



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, Roleplay Logs, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Stockholm Syndrome, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffo827/pseuds/Buffo827, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: With the Deetzes tragically dead and Lydia unable to remain with her deceased family, Betelgeuse finds her shuffling through the foster care system years later once his number is called. His damsel in distress prime for the taking, the poltergeist finds himself all too eager to put away the villain role for once and play hero. The question remains; can he?
Relationships: Adam Maitland/Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz/Delia Deetz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!** What follows is a copied-and-pasted roleplay between **deetz-n-beej** and myself, **TheArtOfSuicide**. They are playing as Betelgeuse, me as Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily rather than having to dig through tumblr. Please be warned going in that this may never have a clean or concise ending as that is not the point of roleplay.
> 
> **Reminder that this was something that was meant to be fun, not judged. Therefore constructive criticism is not welcome.**

Time moved strangely in the Waiting Room. There was no way of knowing exactly how long you would be sitting in the cramped, uncomfortable chairs that lined the seemingly cramped yet endless space. No windows or doors could be found, save the single entrance that led deeper into the department. After all, there was no escaping death.

Betelgeuse liked to consider himself an expert on this room. He had been here so often and in so many different centuries that he was hard-pressed to know exactly when it was just by looking at the newlydeads.

Being the conman he was, he was able to trade numbers, again and again, lying his way up to be the next in line. Oh, yeah. When your number is called, that's it. You go to heaven or hell… which way ya think you're going? Or, Behind that door? Oh, that's the pit. It wasn't hard.

Finally, the beauty queen behind the receptionist window called his number and he bounced up out of his seat. He was so close… His freedom was within reach. He could almost taste it, licking his lips to make sure he couldn't actually.

He let himself back to his long-time friend Juno's office. He liked to consider them friends, anyway. He had been here longer than she had, even, and she was far from a spring hen. He let himself in with a half-assed knock.

"June-bug! Time to say the magic words and get me the fuck outta here."

* * *

Betelgeuse wasn't supposed to be in her office yet. His number was purposefully impossibly high, exorbitantly so, in the hopes that by the time he actually made it through the line, his unfortunate bride would be fortunately dead and moved on. There was only one end befitting an angel like Lydia Deetz, and it certainly wasn't the Waiting Room.

Things never did happen the way they were supposed to.

Juno didn't have any smiles or friendly greetings for her former protege. She never did. Why he thought they were friends was beyond her. Clingy sonuvabitch.

"Sit the fuck down," she grumbled, looking over his paperwork for the umpteenth time. All of the details were already imprinted in her expansive memory bank, she just wanted to make sure she had everything absolutely clear before spelling out the limitations for him.

"Don't know where you think you're going. If you knew what I knew, you'd be a lot less chipper. Oh yeah, and congratulations. I heard it was a lovely ceremony."

* * *

He tipped his head as he flopped into his usual seat, crossing his legs and jiggling his foot nonchalantly. "What do you know that I don't? You're startin' to sound like Carmen. Careful, people will think you're fuckin'."

He grinned at her lecherously. "So what is it? Someone out for me or what?"

He took a moment to try and process what she'd said.

_I heard it was a lovely ceremony._

Ceremony? Was she talking about…

"Is this about Lydia?"

* * *

Oh, wow. He remembered her name. A miracle.

"Of course it's about Lydia, shit-for-brains! You know, the teenager you married? Black hair, about yea high, entirely too young for you? That girl?"

He _didn't_ know. His expression said as much, and Juno was equal parts amused, unimpressed, and annoyed by the revelation.

"You did it. You're hitched. You've got your freedom. I repeat; _congratu-fucking-lations._ Now you get to play pet ghost to that poor girl for eternity. Here's what you need to know before I cut you loose. You're on a _short_ leash. She is your haunt. She is the only one who can summon you or put you away. Do anything stupid like trying to kill her, and that'll earn you a one-way ticket to the Lost Soul's Room. Lay a fuckin' hand on her, magical or otherwise, and you'll have me to deal with."

The last wasn't an official rule so much as a personal note from Juno. She taught him better than to hurt little girls.

"Any questions?"

* * *

He had so many questions.

He did it, but he didn't… conditional freedom wasn't freedom at all. He had two options here… stay in the shit hole known as the Neitherworld or… be on a short leash held in his little wife's perfectly shaped hands.

It was an obvious choice. He could always persuade her into taking him where he needed to be, right?

"Just one. You gonna tell me where she's at? We ain't exactly kept in touch since the honeymoon. You know how it is."

He was already getting excited. He got his freedom _and_ the hot piece of tail that freed him? Bonus.

* * *

With a lengthy roll of her stormy, heavily bagged eyes, Juno bothered to flip through the girl's file. She wasn't obligated to give the filthy ghoul any further help here, but she could throw him a bone. If he got himself landed on Saturn bumbling around looking for his wife and getting into trouble, it would only mean more paperwork for her.

"She's on the Southside of Chicago. Here's her address."

With jerky, impatient motions, she scribbled the street name, number, and apartment building onto a post-it before passing it his way. The information supplied in Lydia's file was sparse and need-to-know, but a little tidbit did make one of Juno's silvery eyebrows arch.

"Huh. A 'Jonathan and Miriam Gallagher' are listed as her current guardians according to mortal law‒" _something the dead rarely respected._ "Guess the Deetzes shoved her off on some relatives. Fuckin' yuppies. We done here?"

* * *

He scowled at the added info. The Southside of Chicago? Even an address this specific wouldn't make it easy to find the kid. And who the fuck were the Gallaghers?

He had a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oh well. Had to start somewhere. "Thanks, Junie B. Jones. Gotta get going!"

He stood up and brushed his suit clean of imaginary dust. In a flash of dramatic green light, he was suddenly standing outside the address he was given wearing a deep scowl.

This place was not where his girl should be. The building was in desperate need of repairs, the siding missing in places and the paint peeling up. He hovered his way into the apartment itself, only to find who he assumed was Miriam on the couch, chain-smoking.

He sneered. Where the fuck was Lydia?

* * *

It was another late night at the library for Lydia. Anything to keep from going back to that asbestos-ridden, roach-infested hovel. As much as she admired insects, she had her limits. But… it was getting dark out. It wouldn't be safe to stay much longer. She didn't want to get mugged again, not that she had anything worth taking. Her camera was long gone, stolen by one of her foster siblings when she first arrived. Probably sold it for drug money for all she knew.

All she had left to her name was a drawing pad, some pencils, a couple of heavily recycled outfits, a cheap pocket knife, and a backpack that carried it all. She slept with it every night to make sure it didn't disappear as well, but that didn't stop the other kids from trying to sneak it open while she shifted through her restless slumbers on that lumpy bunkbed.

Jonathan and Miriam Gallagher had custody of eight children in total, four boys and four girls, all of them sharing a three-bedroom apartment. They raked in a little less than two grand a month from the state per child, but one couldn't tell from the state of their lodgings. Lydia had already exhausted all of her attempts making complaints to her social worker‒ an equally useless and indifferent woman. If there wasn't any extreme and active abuse going on, she didn't care, and the Gallaghers didn't like snitches.

On sluggish feet, she checked out her book‒ a fantasy featuring dragons and a tower-trapped princess‒ and began the long walk "home." Hopefully, there was some beef ramen left over. She hated the chicken kind.

* * *

This place was disgusting. The kids that were lounging around weren't much better, most of them unbathed and high off their asses. He amused himself for a while messing with them. A tug on the ear here, an unexplainable noise there.

When the door opened he felt his heart fall through his stomach. Lydia. But she didn't look like the girl he'd known two years ago. That girl was healthy and excited by the world. This girl looked ready to drop dead at any moment.

He hovered around her, taking a good look. This wasn't going to do. He'd have to get her out of here ASAP. He brushed his hand over her cheek gently, unsure if she could still see him.

"Lyds?"

* * *

Chicken again. _Damn_. Lydia bothered to wash a pan and boil the water properly to make her meager meal, unlike the other kids who defaulted to the microwave.

"Prissy bitch," Megan sneered as she waited for her ramen to finish off, roughly shouldering Lydia as they shared the cramped kitchen. Lydia, in turn, didn't react at all. No flinch, no blink, nothing.

_Be invisible. Do not attract attention. Do not become a target._

However, when she felt a hand reach out and touch her face, she couldn't help the way she jumped and yelped, grabbing a nearby fork to brandish like a knife. Megan wasn't even within arm's reach of her. No one was. Thanks to her dramatic reaction, all eyes were on her now‒ except those of Miriam that remained glassy and locked on the television.

"I‒ I thought‒"

The microwave beeped. Leveling her with an ugly, unimpressed deadpan, Megan gathered her meal.

"Watch yourself, trick. You don't wanna bring a fork to a knife fight."

* * *

Oh, that bitch was going down first. He couldn't believe the way these people were treating his wife. He stood in the doorway and when the girl who was bullying Lydia came close he pushed the bowl of hot soup up into her face.

He chuckled cruelly as the girl screeched and her skin turned red. Served the bitch right for treating his girl like that. He rounded on the boy nearby next, ready to fight him off if he came for his Lydia.

This was seriously fucked. He'd have a harder time than he thought… she didn't see him. He'd have to _make_ her. He shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. Why were things never simple?

* * *

Lydia didn't sleep that night. The room was colder than usual, and Megan was pissed about her ramen mishap, staying up long hours to bitch to her apathetic boyfriend on her cellphone. At least she didn't blame Lydia for the incident, though Lydia couldn't help but feel strangely responsible. The timing was too convenient. It wasn't as though she could deny wanting something bad to happen to Megan at that moment.

School was just as unpleasant as "home", but at least she blended in there better. There were other angsty freaks dressed all in black that let her share their table at lunch, but by no means could any of them be called her friend. It was an arrangement of begrudging acceptance‒ birds of a feather and all that shit.

The sleepless night had her dozing off in class though, which led to a trip to ISS. She was better off there, really. That teacher didn't care if she slept.

* * *

What kind of crackhead put a kid in suspension for falling asleep? Shouldn't they be checking on her? Shouldn't anyone care?

It was clear to him that Lydia was suffering. She was just surviving. She deserved to _thrive_. He hovered nearby after his attempts to stay at the apartment had visions of sandworms dancing in his head.

Now, he was watching her sleep and wondering if a visit in her dream counted towards Juno's no touchy rules. He decided eventually that it didn't.

He popped into her dream and looked around. "Lyds? Ya in here?"

* * *

Where once Lydia's dreamscapes were wild and unpredictable, her imagination had suffered along with her physical shell. There wasn't any real scenery or backdrop. Just nothingness, a blank slate where there should have been dreams and fantasies.

Betelgeuse found her curled up on the ground in the fetal position; sleeping, even here. She was so tired. Slowly, she blinked "awake" to gaze up at him with a light of confusion‒ but not much else. No anger or hostility. Definitely no fear. Some things never changed.

"What are you doing here?"

Didn't he hate her? He should. A frown pulled her mouth down further, making her look so much older than she had any right to.

"Is this going to be a nightmare?"

* * *

The lack of… anything in her subconscious was concerning. He was late to this draw… she'd been hurting for too long for him to just fix it, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He sat beside her and took her hand cautiously. "It ain't a nightmare, kitten. Not any more than what's out there. Right?" He rubbed slow circles on the back of her hand. She was so tired. He could feel it.

"I'm here to help ya. I wanna get you out. Out of the apartment, outta Chicago if ya want… you n' me can go anywhere ya want." He smiled weakly. This was harder than he thought.

"Jesus, Lydia. What happened? Why aren't ya still in Connecticut with the Maitlands?"

* * *

The Maitlands? Adam and Barbara hadn't crossed her mind in a long time. It was too painful to dwell on what her life would look like if she had been able to stay with them.

"They're dead. Everyone I care about is dead. Everyone who cares about me is dead. I want to be dead, too."

Her frown pulled even deeper at the last, eyebrows crinkling. Barbara wouldn't want to hear her say something like that, but she couldn't filter her thoughts here. Everything just came pouring out like water as soon as it popped into her head. This _was_ her head, after all.

"I haven't dreamed about you in a long time. They weren't good dreams… I'm sorry about the sandworm."

* * *

"Aw, ya dream about me? That's sweet, baby." He looked her over carefully. People tended to look better in dreams than they did in life, but once again his Lydia didn't do things the way they were supposed to be done.

She was every inch as skinny and sickly looking here as she was outside. This was bad. This was going to take work to fix… he hated work.

But, keeping him topside was worth keeping the squirt alive.

He carefully rubbed circles into her knee, reaching over to tip her face up to really look at her. "Hey… look at me. People bein dead never stopped you before… why would it stop you now?"

* * *

She flinched when his hand came near her face, expecting the worst, but ultimately remained lax, if trembling, in his calloused grip.

_People bein' dead never stopped you before… why would it stop you now?_

What did he want from her? She wasn't powerful like him. What was she supposed to do? These questions and observations spilled out of her mouth just as quickly as they occurred to her.

"It's not like there's a long line of convenient poltergeists offering me their hand in exchange for favors. I guess I could just kill myself. Eternal civil servitude sounds like an upgrade…"

* * *

"No. Yer not doin' yerself in. I won't let ya."

He sighed and tried to think through the next step. He clearly had to get her out of here… but how? He kept his hand on her knee, wanting a point of contact with her.

"You don't need a whole line of poltergeists. Ya got the only one that counts. I ain't goin anywhere. I got yer back… I ain't gonna let these assholes ruin you. 'Kay?"

He squeezed her knee gently. "No more. This ain't you. I ain't known ya long but I know that. This is not you, Lydia."

* * *

A huff of something that might have been laughter blew past pale, chapped lips‒ dry and humorless.

"You don't know me. _I_ don't know me. Why do you care anyway? You're not even real."

An alarm sounded, loud and jarring. Quite abruptly, the ghoul was torn from her subconscious as Lydia jumped awake at the back of the overcrowded classroom, a gasp of _"Betelgeuse"_ on her lips. Immediately, she clasped both hands over her guilty mouth, glancing about wildly in search of bold black and white stripes. Nothing. Just punks and hoodrats rushing to escape the oppressive establishment of education just as quickly as they could. Lydia was in no such rush.

_What a strange dream…_

* * *

"What? Wait, no—"

Before he could clasp his hand around her throat and keep her asleep, she was being pulled into wakefulness, and Betelgeuse was dragged out of her head as a side effect. He shook his head as though trying to get water out of his ears. He hated being pushed between planes without doing it himself.

Now to prove he wasn't just a dream.

Sketchbooks. They were in her backpack. He'd seen them. He shrunk himself down and slipped between the teeth of the zipper, pulling out a pen from his lapel pocket that wrote in a deep emerald green ink.

He left a note, near the back.

**It wasn't a dream. Call me.**

**‒B**

* * *

After school, Lydia walked herself to the library as per her usual routine to wait out the hours until she was forced to return to the Gallaghers. All the way, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of someone trailing hot on her heels. _Stalking_. She kept her bag close, her pocket knife clenched tight in her fist.

She read until her eyes burned, dry from exhaustion, and then she broke out her drawing pad. The pages were filled with all manner of doodles‒ animals and people and architecture and strange creeping designs‒ right up to the margins, no space wasted. A new drawing pad wasn't exactly something she could afford, and this was one of the few joys she had left in life.

Therefore, a sick feeling churned in her gut when she turned to one of the last empty pages to begin anew and found words scribbled across the pristine page, covering nearly half of it. Then, she read them.

"Betelgeuse," she gasped again despite herself, this one just as involuntary as the last utterance of the boogeyman's name.

* * *

_Just two more, baby._

He hovered over her, producing his pen again and bending over her shoulder to write on the page where he'd started. Until she was sane enough to see him again, this and the dream world would have to do.

He scribbled a note out quickly.

**Hey, babes.**

**Hope you're not too scared. Promise I'm not here to hurt you. Want to get you out of this house ASAP.**

**Love,**

**BJ**

He hastily sealed the note with a doodle of a beetle, hearts floating around its head.

* * *

Her heart beat faster and faster as words continued to materialize on the paper– words that didn't make any fucking sense at all. Help? _From him?_ Who said she even needed any help!? Who did he think he was?!

_Love_. Hearts upon hearts upon hearts. Lydia was going to be sick. Unable to bear reading his note a second longer, she immediately tore the page from her book, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it across the room. He thought she was _scared_ of him? Adorable.

"I'm not scared of you."

The librarian gave her an odd look at how she was hissing at herself. Lydia couldn't bring herself to be embarrassed. Still, struck with paranoia, she glanced over one shoulder, then the other. Nothing. The library was just as empty as always. What kind of game was he playing at? What was the catch?

If she knew anything about Betelgeuse, it was that he didn't do anything for free.

* * *

He growled and tried to think through how he could get this kid to trust him again. She'd done it once… at least a little. Enough to call him out of the model in any case.

That sketchbook was looking pretty full. She seemed to draw all kinds of things that expressed how she was feeling at any given moment. That was probably good, right? He knew jack shit about teenagers.

So he summoned a new sketchbook. Maybe gifts would get him in her good graces. The book was thick and high quality, a sandworm embossed onto the cover in silver metallic ink. Anyone that tried to take it from her would get a nasty bite from the serpent that defended her art.

A set of good quality drawing pencils was put on top and he slid the whole thing into her backpack. The inscription on the inside cover was simple.

**Good. Don't be scared. I'm here now.**


	2. Chapter 2

It was loud tonight. Everyone was present– a rarity. Jonathan Gallagher, a lanky, graying old man who demanded to be called "Sir" by his wards, was dozing drunk as a skunk next to a loudly snoring Miriam on the couch. Two of the boys were throwing punches out in the hallway while most of the other kids watched. Those that didn't were in the boys' room, smoking pot and rifling through unattended personal items. Lydia knew better than to attempt joining in and requesting a toke.

Chicken ramen. Again. She didn't have an appetite for it– or much of anything else– choosing instead to forego food altogether and attempt skirting past all the ticking timebombs to get to her bunk. With the other children busy and Miriam passed out cold, Jonathan felt safe enough to plant his palm on her ass as she passed.

_Be invisible. Do not attract attention. Do not become a target._

The door to the girls' room slammed shut a bit louder than she meant it to, making her flinch harder than the sexual assault. By the time she got to her lumpy mattress, drew the makeshift curtain that cut her off from the rest of the world, and released the breath she didn't know she was holding, she was ready to cry. She didn't. That bastard made her trash an entire page. She could have put so many beautiful things on it and now it was gone. Everything and everyone was _gone_.

If she didn't put all this ugly, upsetting energy somewhere, she would end up crying again, and that would earn her a beating from the other girls. Trembling from the well of emotion bubbling up inside, she yanked the zipper on her backpack open only to gasp and lose hold of it completely.

It wasn't… He _didn't…_

Silent tears streamed down her faded pallor as the pads of her fingertips traced the beautiful sandworm embossing the front, the thick high-quality parchment making up the pages. An exquisite set of charcoal pencils forced her to choke an embarrassing, damning sob down her throat. Luckily, everyone was too busy dwelling with their chaos to hear it. She hugged the drawing pad to her chest like a precious thing, biting her lip so hard to stifle tears that it bled.

Then, for the third time that day, she said it; with pain and purpose, fully aware of who she was calling and what she was doing.

"Betelgeuse…"

* * *

He hadn't meant to make her cry, and he didn't know the asshole "father" in this situation was a pervert. That ass was his and his alone. He'd have to take care of this after he got Lydia out.

He pressed his lips to her temple as she sobbed, wishing he was more real than he was at that moment. Then she said it… the third time that day. He wondered if it was enough…

Slowly, he materialized where he sat behind her, cradling her against his chest. He was rubbing her arm slowly, a scowl settled firmly on his face.

"Ya don't like it, baby? I saw the old one an' well… thought you could use new supplies. Don't worry. Any o' those bastards try to take it, the worm'll bite 'em."

* * *

She didn't expect him to be so close, but she did expect him. Manners mattered, and she couldn't just ignore a gesture like this. Nevertheless, the feeling of a pair of cold, girthy arms wrapped around her, a chubby gut pressed up snug against her back, and two stripe-clad legs spread on either side of her hips made her tense and freeze.

"I–" She hiccuped, jerkily wiping snot onto the sleeve of her ratty, overworn sweater. "I like it."

That was an understatement. It was now the nicest thing she owned. So nice, in fact, that fear of losing it had seized her as soon as she realized it was all hers.

"Wh… why are you here? Why are you being so…" A frigid, stubbly cheek brushed her own and she stuttered even worse over the rest of the sentence. "– n-nice to m-me…?"

* * *

He sighed as she immediately froze up. He didn't let up, however. No time like the present to get used to him touching her. He kept up the soft petting, pressing his cheek to hers gently.

"I'm always nice t'you, kitten. 'N I'm here because… 'cause I got some news. N' you should know too. N' then I saw the shithole they got ya livin' in n'...

He huffed. "Long story short, the marriage went through. So yer my wife. I'm gonna get ya outta this dump and set ya up real nice. You n' me can go anywhere! We can travel the world if ya want…"

* * *

One might argue that coercing someone into marriage under duress and taking advantage of the pressing circumstances they were under was not by any stretch of the imagination "nice"… but this was such a pretty drawing pad. Besides, the other things he said were much more deserving of her attention than this petty lie.

"We're not _married_."

Even as she denied it, she knew it was true. No one else seemed to hear it, not even the sandworm chow cuddled so casually around her being, but she did. She heard that decrepit little priest utter those damning words; _"– and wife."_

"You can't just– just–"

He was too close. It was too much contact, especially after having gone so long without so much as a hug. She bolted, scrambling to the opposite end of the small mattress like a frightened, beat dog– still clutching the cherished drawing pad close to her chest.

"You'll get me out of here in exchange for _what?_ What do you want from me?"

Her eyes were wild, taking in every miniscule movement he made, every little twitch. He hadn't changed a damn bit. Not like her.

* * *

He sighed, reaching for her for half a moment before giving in and crossing hands in his lap. She looked like someone had assaulted her, not just sat behind her. He didn't like this one bit.

"What do I want? I want you to be outta here. I want ya happy n' I want ya t'keep me around so no one can fuck with ya again. If some other trade comes up, we can talk about it then."

He pulled out a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, looking at her beneath hooded eyes.

"How about a test run? We can go to a hotel or somethin'. Take all yer stuff with us so the sibs can't fuck with it, n' we can hang out. Order room service. Pretend ya can stand me."

* * *

The tight line of her mouth squirmed with indecision. His offer was undeniably attractive, but so many things could go wrong. What if this was a trick?

_How long has it been since you've eaten a decent meal, Lydia?_

Coinciding with the traitorous thought, her stomach grumbled. Loudly. Would it be a _nice_ hotel? Like the kind her wealthy father used to put them up in? Cozy featherbeds and unlimited hot water and not a single roach in sight…

No. This was dangerous. It was _definitely_ a trick. Just as Lydia was about to open her mouth and tell him to shove it, the door opened, all three of her foster sisters coming tumbling in, high as a kite and laughing loudly about the show their brothers had put on. Luckily, the thin, dirty sheet that made up her "canopy" kept them hidden, but Lydia was thrown into panic mode, eyes rapidly flickering between her surprise bedmate and the certain doom outside her curtain.

Whimpering, pleading, she informed him in the quietest voice she could muster; _"… I'm not allowed to have guests."_

* * *

"Don't worry. You're the only one who can see me. For now. Wait here." He kissed her forehead, quickly before she could duck away, and was gone.

Moments later, the old, off-tune doorbell rang. When Miriam sent one of the boys to answer, Betel was standing there in a rather impressive, intimidating disguise. The man at the door was impossibly tall and bulky, his blonde hair kept long and swept back from his forehead, not unlike the way Charles Deetz used to wear his.

He was dressed in a freshly pressed black suit, a black and white pinstripe shirt peeking through from behind a green silk tie.

He smiled eerily.

"Hello, little boy. I'm looking for Lydia Deetz. I'm her new social worker. I'm sure you won't mind if I come in and look around while I'm here."

He stepped right past the boy and into the house, scowling dramatically. "Goodness. This isn't at all how it looked in her file."

* * *

_For now._

Maybe she wasn't scared of him per se, but those words were enough to strike terror into her heart. Anything was possible with Betelgeuse on the loose.

Devon answered the door when it rang, lip split and bloody from his recent fight with Lamar. As a freshly initiated gang member, he didn't take too kindly to being addressed as a "little boy", but scowled and stepped aside to let Lydia Deetz's social worker in any way. Anything to fuck with the Gallaghers.

Lydia watched the scene play out from behind the rest of her foster sisters who were crowding the doorway, her small frame barely visible.

"The fuck're…?" At the sight of a stately white man in a suit, Jonathan Gallagher straightened up, jumping to his feet. He couldn't afford to lose one of his precious cash cows‒ _he could, but who was counting? Definitely not the state‒_ and Lydia had such a cute, pert little ass.

"Ahhh Mister uhhh…" He squinted to read the authentic-looking identification Betelgeuse flashed. "Beetleman. I's sorry 'bout the state o' things. The missus n' I, we just uh… money! That's it! Ain't got 'nuff money to keep things tip-top! Damn greedy gov'ment. Don't think you could uh… do somethin' 'bout that… could ya?"

* * *

Betel fixed the drunkard with a scowl. He took a step back when the man came toward him waving his hands and trying to convince him that lack of funds was the reason he was keeping these eight children in this shithole.

"Mr. Gallagher. I'm here to see Lydia, not you. But I must say, I have my concerns about the state of this place. You've got children bleeding and roaches on the walls. Why in Satan's asshole would I give you more money to spend on booze?"

He brushed the man aside and made eye contact with Lydia, smiling and winking at her playfully. "Now. Lydia will be coming with me for a few days while we work out some business with her father's estate. I'll return her on Friday. Maybe."

He sniffed disapprovingly and held out his hand. "Lydia, show me your room and we'll pack your bags."

* * *

When the devastatingly handsome, well-dressed social worker spotted Lydia through the barrier of other girls, they parted like the red sea, mouths agape. Lydia's reaction was only marginally less graceful.

" _Now…?"_ She mouthed without actually speaking as if she just couldn't believe it. It was too good to be true. Again, alarm bells started blaring in her head, screeching _this is a trap_ , even as her heart pitter-pattered in her chest, singing _yes! Please! Take me away!_

Mr. Beetleman's strong chin dipped in a single affirmative nod, and that's all it took for her heart to win the battle.

"I'm already packed."

She was always packed and ready to go, everything she owned staying folded up compact and convenient in her thrift shop backpack. Without further ado, she grabbed it off her bunk and floated his way, completely ignoring her foster siblings and parents and anything else that might have been in her path.

* * *

He nodded and wrapped his arm politely over her shoulders. "Perfect. Then we'd better get going, our flight to New York leaves in a few hours."

He shot the Gallaghers a sharp look. "Hopefully when you get back, conditions will have improved. Or else."

He looked around and narrowed his eyes. He might have to drop a hint to the actual foster care system. These kids deserved better than these shitty excuses for parents. They didn't even ask to see his credentials. He could have been any psycho waltzing in and kidnapping his bride.

He led Lydia outside and in a flash of electric green light, they were gone, standing instead outside a towering hotel just off Times Square. He walked in, produced a fake ID and credit card, and booked the honeymoon suite for a week. She might not want to stay that long, but it was better to have it just in case.

"Please bill the room service and anything else to the room. We'll have some purchases from Saks delivered this afternoon."

The bellhop jumped to help them, carrying his mostly empty suitcases that had appeared in the doorway and leading up to the massive room.

* * *

This was exactly the kind of hotel her father would have booked once upon a time. More than that, Lydia had actually stayed here in this exact building before, when Delia was going on one of her remodeling binges and absolutely had to have the living room of their penthouse suite leveled to put in a skylight. At the time, Lydia had considered their stay here all very dull and boring. What a spoiled fucking brat she was.

Delia and her father had deserved better.

Very silent and nervous now that they were alone together, she kept her distance while Betelgeuse made the arrangements. She didn't feel like she belonged there. This wasn't her world anymore. Quiet as a mouse, she trailed several feet behind him as they rode the familiar, spacious elevator to the top floor, trying and failing to put painful memories away.

However, she couldn't stay silent anymore once they got to their room. _Rose petals_. They were everywhere, leading a trail to the large bed at the center of the room. The only bed. There was a bottle of expensive champagne in an ice bucket next to a bubbling in-ground hot tub‒ also littered with damning rose petals.

This was it. The catch. _The price_. She was an idiot.

"Fuck you," she snarled, immediately on the defensive, and without waiting for an explanation tore off right back through the entrance and toward the elevator. She would rather take her chances on the street.

* * *

He probably should have explained better. Who the fuck were these people? He came in with a sixteen-year-old and they do all this? He bolted after her, catching her hand.

"Woah! Lyds… I promise I didn't think about this. I just thought it would be nice. Amenities n' such… Promise I didn't bring ya here to do anythin' but catch yer breath."

He pressed a kiss to her palm, carefully turning the captured hand in his. He didn't want her to think he was putting the moves on her. Not yet, anyway. The marriage would be consummated, undeniably, but certainly not tonight.

"I want ya t'sleep as long as ya want. Eat what ya wanna eat n' when I take ya shoppin' later you're gonna buy every pretty thing you want. Money ain't an issue. My savin's account's been runnin' interest for centuries." He was teasing, mostly. But he did have an account with an astronomical balance. It did him no good in the Neitherworld, but up here…

He could spoil her for centuries.

"Pants stay on and I don't sleep so's the bed's all yours. Come on, Lyds. Please?"

* * *

_Please._ What a strange word to hear on a mouth so filthy. He had dropped his glamour now that they were alone, baring him in all his grotesque glory. Hearing that phrase uttered from him in this form weakened something in her. Maybe… _just maybe…_ there wasn't a catch.

"I still have my knife," she reminded, low and savage as a malnourished midget threatening an ancient ghost could be. After a beat where it seemed as though she might bolt… her hand relaxed within his, allowing him to lead her back to their room. This was the closest to permission that he would be getting from her.

Once they again passed the threshold, Lydia didn't know what to do with herself. Bathe? Eat? Sleep? She wanted‒ _needed_ ‒ all three but was too overwhelmed to decide on just one. Her knees felt wobbly as she stepped further into the room, indecisive and exhausted, mentally and physically. Instead of doing any of the things she needed to do to maintain herself, she took a seat at the small table near the hot tub, the one that carried the ice bucket and champagne.

The chair wasn't as comfortable as the bed probably was, but she couldn't lay on that thing, couldn't possibly fall asleep in front of him. No, this was the only safe option. Her backpack of meager belongings was kept close, even now the girl not feeling secure enough to let it out of her grip. The aforementioned knife was tucked into the ankle of her boot, but Lydia wasn't stupid enough to legitimately think it would do her any good on him. It was a petty comfort.

"I never said I was going to go with you," she murmured low, watching as the rose petals in the hot tub rose and sunk to the surface with the jets bubbling at the lowest setting. "You shouldn't have done all this. The other kids‒"

She was in for one Hell of a beat down whenever she returned. _Be invisible. Do not attract attention. Do not become a target._

"They're not going to like it."

* * *

"They don't _gotta_ like it."

He kicked his boots off and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her closely. She was clearly still uncomfortable. He made the choice for her and picked up the room service menu.

"I'm starvin'. Whatcha wanna eat, babes? Or do ya want me to leave ya alone for a while so you can soak in that tub? Looks nice, huh?" He sighed and stared at her a while when he didn't get an answer. "Guess I'm sorry for hijackin' ya but seems t'me ya need this little vacay." Why was she being so difficult? He was being real good to her and she was ungrateful already.

Kids these days.

"Come on… ya know ya wanna lay back n' relax a while. I'll handle the sibs when we get back."

* * *

While he asked his simple, confusing questions, Lydia drew her legs up onto the seat with her, tucking her chin in between her knees. Eat, _starve_ , sleep, _don't_ , stay, _go_ , live, _die…_ All the different options pounded against her skull, driving her mad, twisting up her tongue and consciousness. She was used to being told what to do, to having no other options than what was presented to her– _beef or chicken?_

The decadence of _choice_ that Betelgeuse offered was overwhelmingly too much freedom.

"I don't know," she whispered, well aware that she was being ungrateful and unreasonable, hating herself for it. Her too-skinny limbs curled into a tighter ball, bony fingers gripping painfully at the greasy hair on either side of her head. _"I don't know."_

In an effort to not be so fucking annoying and useless, she spat out an answer to one of his many questions, hoping that this might appease him.

"Pizza."

* * *

Goddamn it. Could he not do a single thing right by this kid? Now she was freaking out. Maybe it was too much too fast?

Slowly, he nodded and reached for the phone, ordering a plain cheese pizza for his wife and a burger for himself. He also ordered the soda he knew she liked from before and an extra order of fries.

Just in case.

He sighed as he hung up and flopped face down into the pillows of the bed. The rose petals were crumpling under him but at least they smelled nice. He was starting to wear out. Between the many-mile transport and holding a human form for the two hours it had taken between getting Lyds out and getting them checked in, he was starting to doze.

Bad idea. She couldn't be left unsupervised.

He forced himself awake with a snort and sat up, scratching his gut. "TV, babes? Whatcha wanna watch?"

* * *

Finally. A question she knew the answer to.

"I like scary movies."

From there, he took that and ran with it, landing the large flat screen television on a channel that was broadcasting a George Romero marathon. _Dawn of the Dead–_ the original, not the atrocious remake– was playing. Lydia untucked just a little from her protective ball for a better view. Snarling zombies and screaming victims helped exponentially in making the silence between them less awkward.

Pizza came. Betelgeuse answered the door and carried it all in, laying the entire box down in front of her. It was _delicious_. The best pizza she'd ever had– or could recall having in recent memory. She scarfed down three slices until she couldn't eat anymore, and then just for good measure because it tasted _so good_ , she had another.

That bed was looking more and more comfortable, but she wouldn't lay there while he was on it. What if he saw that as an invitation?

"Thank you," she conceded quietly during a commercial break, ashamed of herself for thinking so poorly of him before. After all, he hadn't lied to her yet. Historically speaking, she was the one most likely to fuck him over.

* * *

He had eaten the burger and his order of fries by the time she spoke again. In fact, he was nearly asleep, her quiet voice startling him awake.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Not gonna kidnap ya then starve ya. I'm a monster but I ain't that cruel. 'Specially to my wife. Can you imagine?"

He shook his head, cracking one eye to look at her. "Ya know you can come sit by me. I ain't gonna touch ya unless ya ask me to. The whole grabbin' thing earlier was a fluke."

He held up his hands smiling at her. "I'll tie myself up if ya want. We could both have fun with that, I think. You can know I ain't gonna cop a feel n' I can daydream 'bout you coppin one on me. It's a win-win!"

* * *

The sexually charged joking did nothing to help his case. Still, despite every instinct telling her not to, Lydia found herself very slowly unraveling to trail skinny, weak limbs across the floor.

"Promise you won't…?"

Her intonation was wrong, like she meant to tack more onto the end of the sentence but ultimately decided it was enough on its own. The bed barely dipped at all with her added weight. Ever polite, she removed her shoes first, then her hole-ridden socks. She probably should have bathed before touching this beautiful pristine bed… but she didn't really want to ask him to leave‒ and she was so tired. If she tried, the likelihood of her falling asleep in such a decadent tub was high.

Idly, she toyed with one of the rose petals still smattered over the covers, rubbing it across the top of her hand just to feel the softness. It was a beautiful bloody shade of red, the color of passion.

"I still don't understand… Why...?"

The question was left to hang in the air unclarified. Why did he give a fuck at all? Just because she was his wife? That seemed… petty in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

He playfully drew a cross over his heart as she approached, his eyes never leaving her thin, frail form. He had to get this right fast or she'd waste away to nothing. He watched her settle delicately on her side of the bed and smiled softly. She was getting there. Maybe they could find common ground after all.

_I still don't understand… Why…?_

His smile faltered and he turned his attention to the ceiling. Why was he doing all this? It wasn't required of him. All he had to do was stay close to her. She could be an inch from death and he'd still get to stay topside.

So why?

"I ain't never done this marriage thing before. I was too busy with other shit for any girls to stay around long… yer special, I guess. I don't like seein' ya feelin' so shitty."

He glanced at her before continuing.

"You deserve to go see the world. Take pictures of anythin' those big ol' eyes can land on. I'm gonna get ya there. Kinda owe it to ya."

* * *

The bed was enormous. They could have fit three more of her in between them and they still wouldn't have been touching.

_Take pictures of anythin' those big ol' eyes can land on._

Said eyes drifted shut so that she could play pretend. Fantasize. She could almost hear the static flash of her old Polaroid camera, the whirr of a photo flapping through the air before her deft fingers caught it. It had been so long…

Her eyes snapped open on the precipice of dreamland, dull and sunken under the dim glow of the television.

"You don't owe me shit."

Wasn't it her that stabbed him in the back after he upheld his end of their deal? What wedding was he remembering?

"They fed you to a sandworm. I _let_ them. I was happy about it."

It was suicidal of her to rub this in his face now of all times after he had shown such uncharacteristic kindness and generosity.

"Do you still think I deserve to see the world?"

* * *

He looked at her, studying her face as she brought up the unfortunate Connecticut situation. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He had hated her for a long time. She had been the source of many gruesome and painful fantasies as he digested in the gut of the giant beast that had eaten him up.

He wanted her dead. More than dead he had wanted her to suffer. But seeing her now, he could tell that she had. His thirst for retribution was sated.

"Yeah. You do. I know you do. Anythin' I coulda wished on ya has already happened. Ya deserve anything my old, dead, stupid ass can scrounge up for ya."

* * *

Satisfied that maybe this wasn't an elaborate plot to hurt her somehow, the tension that had kept her wound tight for longer than she cared to dwell on eased. She was safe here. Any pain he might want to dish out would not be coming tonight, not while she slept on this cloudy mattress beside him with a sea of blankets keeping them apart.

"I'm sorry," she acquiesced, once more at the edge of sleep. The apology she gave him once in her dreamscape was beyond her memory's scope at this point.

"I wasn't… that happy… just a little…"

By the time he could formulate any kind of response to her sentimental bullshit, she was already gone.

* * *

He chuckled as she muttered reassurances, quickly dozing off once she was settled in the bed. He took the time to put the pizza away, sure that she would want it later, before settling in to watch her sleep.

He only made it a few minutes before he was nosily diving into her dreams again, glancing around at the still largely empty background of her subconscious.

Maybe this would help him find something to help her out. He sought her out and smiled when he found her, sleeping even here.

Not tonight.

He retracted his mind and watched her a while longer before he too nodded off into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

It was many hours before Lydia returned to the realm of consciousness. She awoke naturally, unaided by outside interference of sound or light. At some point while she slept, the curtains had been drawn to keep light from disturbing her. There weren't any clocks anywhere, but she didn't care what time it was anyway. The television was still on, still playing that George Romero marathon– _Diary of the Dead_.

Betelgeuse was asleep beside her, having kept a respectable distance as promised. It did not go beyond her notice that he'd lied about never sleeping, but she didn't care about this either. The bed was big enough. It didn't require any concession on her part to let him indulge in a nap.

She slept for so long that her mouth was very dry and tasted awful, grit gathered in the corners of her eyes. It probably would have been smart to take advantage of this time to go shower or bathe while he was still asleep, but she was so comfortable. A quick swish from the bottle of overpriced hotel water on the nightstand cleared up her dry-mouth problem well enough for the time being.

It was too hot. She tossed her sweater over the edge of the bed, leaving her in just a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans and an equally black disrepaired tank. _Much better._

* * *

He woke when she did but decided to give her the time to be alone, feigning sleep while she got settled.

However, it seemed she wasn't leaving the bed any time soon, so he snorted loudly and jerked "awake". He sat up, rubbing his face to wipe away the mock sleep.

"Mmm. Mornin', babes. Ya okay? Need anything? Wazzat?"

He gestured toward the small dining table where a box had appeared overnight. He knew exactly what it was, having gone through her thoughts a little to find exactly the right camera.

The note read _To Lydia, From Santa._ Who hadn't heard of Christmas in July, right? Or… April? He had no idea what day it was.

* * *

Lydia flinched hard when he woke up, having grown used to his rhythmic, ogre-like snoring. But then he kept to form, grumbling half-awake questions to make sure she was satisfied and seen to.

"Mm-mm," she shook her head _no_ politely to his questions while sucking in her lips in a demure gesture, not wishing to put him out further. Then, he drew her attention to the present. When had that gotten there? It wasn't there earlier.

He was decidedly responsible and Lydia wasn't quite sure how to react. She hadn't been given a gift since… better not to think about it.

"It's March. And I haven't believed in Santa Clause since I was six," she informed upon reading the tag, not ungratefully, taking the box wrapped in shiny, metallic paper into her hands. What could it be? Knowing him, the possibilities were endless. With more than a little trepidation, she carefully untied the bow and untaped the wrapping paper without tearing. It was too pretty to just rip into.

A camera. Not just any camera. A state of the art, top of the line digital piece of equipment, with enough memory on the card to record several movies worth of footage in 4k high definition‒ if she wanted to. Again, tears were brought to her eyes as a gripping fear of having it taken away from her struck her core, and just like the drawing pad, she hugged it tight to her chest like an injured babe.

"Thank you."

* * *

He watched her open it, intrigued by the way she delicately removed, folded, and kept the paper.

That was it. The look he was longing for. She loved it.

"Oh wow… that Santa guy must like ya." He pulled a cigarette out of thin air and lit it, juicing the smoke detector to ignore him. "Maybe its 'cause yer birthday is comin' up. Guess he got his holidays confused."

He took a deep drag, a strange sparkle in his eye as he watched her cling to the box like it might fly away.

"Well? Open it up! Let's get some pictures already!"

* * *

Just as careful and timid as always, Lydia settled at the seat she had taken the night before and removed her shiny new toy from its box, struck speechless. How did he know her birthday was coming up? What else did he know about her?

The charge was already full. There were more settings than she knew what to do with, and she read the little instruction booklet studiously while fidgeting and playing, not yet taking any photos.

Then, she turned the lens on him, curious to see what might happen. His ectoplasmic aura was different from Adam and Barbara's. They showed up as glowing, floating orbs in varying intensities of light depending on their moods. He, on the other hand, was a shapeless black mass, a plume of dark smoke concentrated in one area.

"Deadly-vu…" She hushed under her breath, then snapped the photo. Without any hesitation, she flipped the little screen around so that he could see. After all, he was the one who was going above and beyond to make sure she had this camera and could take these photos.

"Why do you look like that?" There was no underlying insult. Just genuine curiosity framed by large, interested eyes. "Adam and Barbara didn't look like that. None of the ghosts I've photographed have. What does it mean?"

* * *

He smiled, half dozing off while she cuddled with the new toy. He was almost snoring when she snapped the picture.

His eyes flew open and he sat up, frowning softly. "What? I don't show up in pictures, none o' the stiffs do." He looked at the photo and shrugged.

"Already told ya, babes. I'm the ghost with the most. Guess I'm a little different. Special."

He smiled softly, looking past the camera to look into her eyes. "So? Good enough? I can make sure the sibs don't get their nasty hands on it if ya want… if ya go back."

He was still eager to convince her to stay. Maybe if he kept up the spoiling, he could get her to stay close. After all, what woman didn't like getting presents, right?

"Ya need anything else? I ain't got a darkroom in my pocket but I could get workin' on that."

* * *

… _If ya go back…_

Signing up to let him take care of her seemed reckless. Dangerous. But really, was it any more dangerous than going back to the Gallaghers where a wrong look might get her beaten bloody? Where her foster father and brothers didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves?

They would be savage to her after the display Betelgeuse made. They already saw her as a rich, entitled princess despite her orphaned status. For her to come back with gifts and promises of protection from someone like him was practically a death sentence.

Yet again, anxiety and indecision took her. Surely Betelgeuse was going to request payment eventually. Nothing was free. No matter how many pretty, comforting lies he told, he wanted something from her and it was only a matter of time until he demanded reimbursement for all these trinkets and niceties. Would she be able to afford his price?

"I don't need anything, thank you." She kept her gaze down in submission, locked on the photo of him in her lap. "I'm uhm– I'm going to take a bath. Or a shower. I don't know, I–" Tongue-tied and anxious, and she could feel her cheeks getting hot in embarrassment. She sounded so dumb. "Just. Knock, please. If you want anything."

As awkward and silly as anything, she scrambled toward the bathroom, unable to look her husband in the eye in the wake of his overwhelming generosity.

* * *

He watched her disappear into the bathroom and immediately went invisible to follow her through the door, watching as she shed her tattered clothes with a frown. She did need something. Lots of somethings. He took the time to make sure she was safely in the tub‒ and well lathered‒ before returning to the bedroom.

It took some focus, but by the time she was done, there were piles of neatly folded brand new clothes for her at the end of the bed. He tried to keep up the style with what he remembered her liking.

There were skinny jeans and baggy shirts but also cute sundresses and skirts that would twirl when she spun. Several pairs of panties topped the pile in varying styles. He didn't know what she liked to wear, so he picked what he'd like to see. The last thing he wanted was his girl having to wear dirty panties.

Socks and shoes were at the base of the bed, black flats with little cat ear detailing, and a good heavy pair of boots, the kind that could keep her warm and be fashionable all at once.

* * *

Lydia couldn't remember the last time she shaved. Her legs and pits were a forest of dark, wiry hair. Any time anyone brought a razor into the Gallagher house, it was stolen or appropriated within twenty-four hours. Any razors that stayed in the shower were rusted, communal, and disgusting. A sterile, unused razor blade was a luxury, so when she found one wrapped up in plastic waiting for her at the edge of the large porcelain tub in the bathroom, she couldn't contain her squeal of delight.

Hopefully, Betelgeuse didn't hear.

She proceeded to take the longest bath she could ever recall taking in her life, refilling the tub with scalding water any time it began to cool. Just because she could, she shaved every inch of alabaster flesh using a sweet-smelling balm provided by the hotel; her legs, pits, nether regions, anywhere in need of care. Then, she exfoliated, drained the tub of hair and dead skin, and soaked some more.

He wouldn't mind. He would knock if he wanted something. This was okay.

It was two full hours before Lydia finally dragged herself from the blissful heat. Even after that, she lingered, pampering herself further by rubbing a vanilla-scented body butter all over her skin before donning a plush terrycloth bathrobe, all in white. Cheeks flush from the heat, she eventually emerged from the bathroom, a wave of steam pouring out behind her.

Clothes. _Thank God._ Or really, thank Betelgeuse– which she did, just as she had been doing; quietly, with large eyes taking in the unexpected bounty. She had been dreading tarnishing her squeaky clean state by putting on one of the overworn outfits in her backpack.

"I feel like Julia Roberts in _Pretty Woman_."

How did he have her pegged so well? Everything laid out here on this bed was exactly in her size and to her taste. She didn't know jack shit about him. It wasn't fair.

* * *

It took her an awfully long time in the bath, but when she came out in her bathrobe, he couldn't help but chuckle. It was massively too big, as many things seemed to be on her.

_I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman._

"Well, yer not a prostitute, so… not exactly a perfect metaphor."

He stood up from where he'd been looking out the window, picking out an outfit of his liking and handing it to her. "Here. Yer gonna get cold standin' around in that."

He ran his hand up her arm on instinct, only catching himself when it was resting on her neck, his thumb rubbing gently over her damp cheek. "Anything else? Cause ya forgot to tell me ya needed clothes, so I wanna make sure…"

* * *

Lydia certainly felt like a prostitute, but at least a very clean and expensive one. She wasn't stupid. He was romancing her. But why? He couldn't possibly be in love with her. Maybe he didn't know the answer either.

His cold, clawed hand trailed up over her throat and cheek to seduce her further, and her knees buckled.

"N-no…" she gulped, ready to collapse and burn right back into the earth. "I don't need anything else, Bee…"

Her meek voice faded off, a flash of irrational fear panicking her gaze for a split second as she realized she didn't know what to call him‒ what was safe and wouldn't send him away.

"Jay."

It made the most sense. His name was "Beetlejuice." BJ was polite enough… right? Still, she felt rude and awful for saying his name like that without his express permission. Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips. He was awfully tall. _Broad_. With a healthy gut, like a man who ate three square meals a day and a dessert.

"Thank… you…"

* * *

He was surprised when she didn't pull away from his petting. He was shocked further when her big, innocent eyes roamed over his body and that little pink tongue made an appearance.

It took everything in him to fight off the chub that was starting to form in his pants. He wanted her… always had. Back in the house in Connecticut, it had been a struggle to decide if it was more important to marry her or just _take_ her.

Maybe he'd made the right choice after all.

"BJ, huh? That's just fine."

He chuckled and pulled her gently closer to him, dipping his head until the top of his nose rubbed against hers. "You're welcome… told ya. Anythin' you want… what do _you_ want, babes?"

* * *

Didn't he understand what a horribly difficult question that was for her to answer? It was made even more difficult to find her voice when he pulled her limp form close to his easy and gentle as if she was made of the most breakable material.

Cool breath hit her mouth with his soft hushing tone as he nuzzled over her, and Lydia thought she might burn up from the inside out. It would be rude to push back out of his arms. Did she even want to do that? He wasn't hurting her. He _wouldn't_ hurt her. If her legs gave out, which felt like a very real and dangerous possibility with how intimately he was holding her, that strong arm banded firmly, but gently, around her waist would tighten up and catch her.

Quite abruptly, it occurred to Lydia that while it was true she had no idea what she wanted, she knew exactly what she _didn't_ want. The confession came small and embarrassed, practically inaudible, with big eyes shut tight as her husband pressed his face so sweetly into hers.

"… I don't want to go back there."

* * *

Through the several moments of conflicted silence, he was temporarily worried that he had crossed a line, but she didn't stiffen up or pull away like she might if she were afraid, so he held onto her, content to revel in the closeness.

_I don't want to go back there._

That he could achieve. He'd hardly planned to send her back anyway. He could get them an apartment somewhere… keep her safe and out of sight.

He smiled softly at her little confession, his arm tightening around her waist as he pressed his lips to hers gently.

"Done. You never have t'go back, Lyds. Where do ya wanna go? We can stay here until we figure it out. Ya don't gotta know right this moment, okay?" He pressed his lips to her forehead, still cradling her against his chest. "I gotcha now. Yer gonna be spoiled. Got that?"

* * *

Plush, mossy lips fell to hers and her breath hitched, skinny legs finally collapsing under her insignificant weight as they'd been threatening to do. Her first kiss. It was over in an instant before Lydia could determine what to do about it– if there was even anything to do.

_Ya don't gotta know right this moment, okay?_

"'Kay," she swallowed, feverish even as contrary goosebumps rose all over, unaided by his seemingly permanent frigid temperature and the cool air conditioning hitting her wet hair. He nestled her close, making up for her slack limbs, and she returned the embrace somewhat– tiny fists curled into his jacket, cheek pressed to his chest– because it was comforting and _God_ could she use some comfort. She didn't understand him, and by no means was she in love with him, but it was obvious that he felt something for her that was genuine.

Going back there when she had this as an alternative would just be stupid, especially when it appeared the only price she had to pay for his care was to let him be sweet on her.

"I… I've never… had a boyfriend." God, this was so embarrassing. Still, it seemed like imperative information for him to have. "… or _kissed_."

* * *

She was warm where she cuddled in against him, and he took his time reveling in the new sensation. He'd been fucking dead women so long that he forgot how nice it was to have real, warm flesh under his fingers.

He chuckled softly as she revealed that the gentle peck he bestowed was her first kiss. He wasn't entirely surprised. Humans seemed to keep their distance from her for reasons he'd never know.

"Well, ya don't need a boyfriend. Ya got yer husband right here…. ya jumped the line."

He scooped her up and carried back to the bed where he settled in against the headboard and settled her sideways in his lap, both of her tiny thighs over one of his broader limbs.

He rubbed a hand up her back and kissed her cheek. "We can kiss as much as ya like. Practice, maybe…ya know what they say."

* * *

It was a new and exciting thing to be seen as a sexual object by someone and for it to not disgust her. She purposefully wore oversized garments around her foster father and brothers to keep their wandering hands from showing interest, though it did little to help in the end. They pinched and squeezed when they could, and Lydia knew it was only a matter of time before one of them would have cornered her in that cesspit and demanded more.

Betelgeuse had far from cornered her. She knew that whatever happened next would be entirely on her terms. She could decide this was all too much, demand to be dropped off anywhere in the world, and he would oblige. So what was a little kissing?

She was entirely naked under that robe, the soft heavy material parting over her knees when he settled her on his lap like that. This kind of closeness and affection was alien to her, and she couldn't help the way she trembled but didn't want to stop. Not when he had so much to show her.

"We can kiss," she granted shy permission eventually, staring at his mouth but unable to gather the courage to close the distance and begin the practice session.

"If _you_ want."

* * *

His hands politely stayed on the terry cloth of her robe, though the pale skin peeking from the edge of it was appealing. It wouldn't do to scare her off now.

"Let's see… do I want to make out with my beautiful wife...?" He pretended to ponder the choice, scratching his chin. "That's a hard one. C'mere, kitten."

He grinned and pulled her closer still, leaning in to kiss her again. It started soft and slow, quickly gaining traction as his body and mind started to react to having her so close. Her lips were softer than he expected with the rest of her so neglected, but he was far from complaining as his tongue teased over her lower lip.

* * *

Her inexperience became painfully clear as he started in on her like a pro, making sweet love to her mouth with his lips, teeth, and tongue alone. Every move he made was mastered and exact, whereas she only felt awkward and messy when her short pink tongue apprehensively brushed against his. As patient and slow as he was being with her, she could feel a barely restrained hunger just below the surface, keeping him at bay.

It was suffocating.

"I'm no good at this," she pulled away to gasp this just as his intensity increased, grimy teeth daring to nibble at a kissed-rosy bottom lip, a clawed hand tightening at the nip of her waist in a way that made the opening of her bathrobe threaten to split wide open.

"I can't– you're just _really good_ and I uh– I mean, I can't do what _you_ can do," she was floundering, struggling to convey a message that just wouldn't cooperate with her clumsy, unpracticed lips.

"…You're tongue is _really_ long…"

* * *

He bit back the offer to show her just how long it was, his hand sliding up her side as she explained why he shouldn't be enjoying himself.

"Babes. Come on…. this is yer fist attempt. I'm sure the first picture ya took wasn't gallery quality, right? You're doin' great."

He couldn't help but glance down to where her robe was starting to fall open. She really was something. She was like his spank bank stepped out of his head onto his lap. It was truly unfair.

"Just come here, sweetheart..." He kissed her again, pulling her in tight against him. His hand slid up and into her robe, sliding over her breast gently.

"God Yer beautiful, Lyds…"

* * *

The coarse expanse of his broad palm found her painfully tight little nipple, bold and well aware of what he wanted‒ so unlike her‒ and Lydia died. Just a little. Something hard and thick was pressing up under her bony thigh and she wasn't so innocent to not know what it was.

So much of his tongue was in her mouth. Didn't he know she needed to breathe? He must have. For a split-second long enough, she panicked, and he showed mercy to free her lips at least from his passionate assault.

"I'm sorry," she wasn't sure what exactly she was apologizing for, but surely she'd done something wrong. Beneath the breast he was so delicately cradling, her heart thrummed like a trapped hummingbird. How had this escalated so quickly?

_Beautiful._

"You're‒ not… ugly."

_Kill me now._

* * *

He snorted at the stuttered half-compliment, dropping his lips to her neck and working his way down to suck at the place her neck met her shoulder.

"Mmm. I'll take it… long as yer the one givin' it…"

He squeezed at her tit once, not as roughly as he wanted to, fingers finding her hard nipple and pinching playfully.

"How's that feel, kitten? Hmm? You like my hands on ya?"

His other hand quested south, maneuvering her until her back was pressed to his chest and he could slide his hand up her inner thigh, questing toward his ultimate goal. One finger teased over her labia, his eyebrows raising as he realized she was completely bare, not a hair to be felt. He groaned into her ear and his thumb quickly found her clit.

"God, you're so sexy…"

* * *

Oh God, she _did_ like his hands on her, touching her, manipulating her to his whims. How had he gotten her here so easily? At least she wasn't cold anymore. That was an equally impressive feat on Betelgeuse's part, things being what they were.

"Bee…" she huffed in a confused whine, losing the rest of his name. Where before she couldn't get enough air, she was now getting far too much, breaths rushing in and out at a rapid pace. This was _filthy_. She was going to burn in Hell with him. When he spoke, she could feel it low and vibrating deep in his chest and through her torso, providing a lulling calm to offset the liquid fire bubbling in her belly.

"I do, but‒" he asked a question and it would be rude of her to ignore it, no matter how ashamed she was to admit to enjoying his touch. "This is… _mm…_ more than kissing…"

* * *

"Shhh…. it's alright, kitten. Just relax and let me make ya feel good…."

He slipped his finger into her slowly, not all the way, but to the first knuckle, rubbing his thumb over her clit harder. His lips gently trailed down her neck, soaking in the warmth of her skin.

He knew she was a virgin—it was painfully clear. He wondered if she had ever even touched herself. Perhaps her next gift would be a toy for some solo enjoyment.

"Feel good, baby? You're bein' so _good_ for me… you tell me if ya want me to stop, okay?"

* * *

The tip of his claw met a shallow end within her, just barely making contact with the delicate membrane that made up her maidenhead before retracting, sliding over a sensitive bundle of nerves above her entrance as he left.

That was all it took. Without him putting much work into it at all, before her mind and mouth could catch up with her wound tight, overly-sensitive body‒ everything snapped into place and why he was doing this became beautifully clear. His promise to make her "feel good" was delivered upon expeditiously, hot jolts of pleasure shooting out from her center, forcing her to shake and cry in his lap.

Skinny thighs tightened around his hand. Dark ropes of wet hair fell over her small, exposed breasts.

"No more," she begged breathlessly, quaking, wet, and flushed all over, "please."

* * *

As desperately as he wanted to push her further, he knew that all of this was an overwhelming and new sensation for his little wife.

He should be satisfied having brought her to her first orgasm.

He wasn't.

Keeping up the gentle pressure on her clit, he watched her closely. He wanted her overwhelmed, sure, but not in pain. There would be plenty of time for her to discover how thin the barrier between the two was. Sighing, he kissed her cheek as he carefully retreated, his free hand sliding up to caress her breast where it was peeking out from beneath ebony locks.

"Good girl, Lyds… doesn't that feel nice?"

* * *

It took him a few beats longer than her body was comfortable with for him to listen and let up, but he did. Eventually. Supporting her tiny frame entirely as she put herself back together after falling apart, he continued to fondle her, an inadequate breast in each of his large mitts.

His erection continued to surge and threaten beneath her, but he didn't seem in any rush to pull it out. From what Lydia could tell, it felt awfully big, and she was positive she wasn't ready to see it. She wasn't ready for any of this.

She wanted to be back in Connecticut with her more than just okay parents, and her best friends who were now unfortunately stuck haunting with them. How could she possibly show up with Betelgeuse on her arm? How weak would they think her? They would never understand. She definitely didn't.

Shivering, not from the cold, she hesitantly pulled her robe closer shut without impeding his molesting hands, not wishing to offend him. He seemed like he was having a good time.

"It's nice," she agreed, not lying, feeling in need of another bath. "You're really… _really_ good at this."

* * *

He took her ungiven hint and withdrew his hand with a sigh.

"Ain't nobody complained yet." With a kiss to her cheek and a pat on her hip, he lifted her out of his lap easily. "Welp. That ruined yer bath, I suppose. Better go get clean again…. just don't come out without knockin'."

He smiled and settled her on her shaking feet, giving her ass a gentle push toward the bathroom. She would get used to it, but there was no use in scaring her off sex so early on. He waited for the click of the door before vanishing his pants and wrapping a gnarled hand around himself. Sighing happily, he leaned back into the lush hotel pillows, stroking himself steadily.

* * *

_Don't come out without knockin'._

That request kept Lydia in her second shower of the day for longer than necessary, but the hot water felt heavenly beating on her lower back. It was also nice to have some more time away from him to digest the sudden sexual turn their relationship had just taken. It was stupid of her to let him have so much in exchange for so little.

Why did she let him do that? Because he was being overly nice? Because he was so disgustingly good at what he was doing? All of the above? Now he was going to expect those kinds of shenanigans all the time. _Stupid._

In contrast to her ashamed, guilt-ridden musings, she dressed in the outfit he gave her, thinking he might praise her with another one of those addictive sweet compliments or nicknames. It was a classic "Morticia" dress, but lighter and more casual than some of the glamorous renditions she'd seen before. The neck sloped low, but the material was lighter than air, making it feel like more of a nightgown as the excess fabric on the sleeves and train draped along with her every motion.

Long, damp hair was gathered into a messy updo on top of her head, exposing the dark purple discoloration on her throat leftover from his suckling mouth, and she knocked hesitantly on the door as per his instruction.

"Bee– uh… BJ?" She stuttered over his name, cheeks flushing. There were only so many things he could be doing out there to require privacy, and none of them were innocent.

"Can I come out now?"

* * *

He took his time with himself, knowing she'd likely want to soak in the hot water after their sudden and unannounced foray into sex. A fine memory was conjured up from his attic days, watching Lydia strip out of her uniform sweater and shoes. The sweater almost always took her top with it, expanses of soft creamy skin revealed unbeknownst to the wearer.

He groaned softly, sliding his hand over himself steadily. He was swiftly approaching his end when—

Lydia's tiny, feminine voice piped up from the bathroom. He groaned again, for a different reason. If she was speaking up, she had probably been waiting a while.

"Just a second, babes."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of Juno in a bikini. When the image had done its work, he tucked himself away and whistled as though calling a dog.

"Come on out."

* * *

Wasting no time, she came pouting out of the bathroom, veritably miffed. He didn't have to whistle at her like that. She waited patiently, didn't she?

"I want ice cream," Lydia announced suddenly, confident in this at least. "Where's that menu…?"

After finding it nestled among sheets and clothes, she settled on the floor with a blanket and the hotel telephone along the ledge of the wall-length window, ready to just watch the city below.

"I want that," she instructed her nosy husband, who was already peaking over her shoulder. Her finger landed on a photo of an enormous sundae, with brownie and hot fudge and whip cream and a sweet candied cherry on top.

"I want _all_ of it. None of this cutesy lovey-dovey boyfriend-girlfriend sharing gunk. If you want one, get your own."

* * *

He chuckled as he settled behind her, taking the menu with a smile. "You bet, babes." He snapped his fingers and the treat appeared in her lap.

He took a deep breath. She really shouldn't be getting away with speaking to him like that, but she'd had a long day. There was plenty of time to work the brat out of her. Honestly, he was relieved that she felt comfortable enough to even be bratty. He rubbed his hand over her side from where he lounged on his side next to her, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"So. Anything else ya want for the moment? Anywhere ya wanna go? We got the whole world in front of us, kid."

* * *

"I want…"

It was easier asking him for things after he had gotten so much of what he wanted from her. From the way he was petting her, he wasn't done broking the deal... but the sundae was _divine_.

"To stay in‒" _lick, swallow_ " ‒ another night… mm… go out later. More zombie movies are going to play… and I'm kinda sleepy anyway…"

She didn't have the first clue where they should go, either. New Orleans kept a hidden gothic charm, but somewhere cold and dark like the Netherlands also held a certain appeal. Research would have to be done first.

"If you got me a laptop, I could look up different places and we could see what looks… fun?"

* * *

He chuckled and shook his head. She was certainly more comfortable asking for shit, wasn't she? He sighed softly and nodded at the most recent request, waving his hand to make a laptop appear on the bed.

"Finish yer food first. Don't want it gettin on yer new computer."

He patted her hip and stood up to pace. One more night. That was doable. She wanted to sleep and watch horror movies. Fine.

He wondered if he could sneak away to Dante's. That was in the Neitherworld, right? So it was in his parameters… he really needed to get his rocks off.

But then he turned back in his pacing to see Lydia, all bundled up in the hotel comforter eating ice cream and he knew he couldn't do it. He needed to be here for his girl.

* * *

Having already gotten her rocks off, Lydia was ignorant and unsympathetic to his struggle. The sun was just beginning to set over the big apple, casting a golden glow over twinkling city lights. That sight paired with her sundae was far more interesting than watching him pace and trying to determine what he was thinking about.

Her eyes were bigger than her stomach. She barely made it through half the mountain of ice cream before setting it off to the side to go investigate her new laptop. Just like the camera, it was a state of the art piece of equipment and expensive, very thin and light with a large, vivid screen.

"Thank you," she murmured while starting it up and playing with the settings, feeling very much like a broken record. As soon as it was at a place where she could access the internet, she dove right in, scouring different searches to see what looked "fun."

"Japans seems cool," she offered without any real passion, glancing over scenic photos on a travel site. Dark hair and pale skin appeared to be in fashion there. "Good food… it's pretty…"

* * *

He watched her play with the computer and lounged across the bed while she did… whatever she was doing.

_Japan seems cool…_

"Hold yer enthusiasm, kid. Japan blows. Besides, I'm banned. We can't live there." Japan was a record for him. He had been in the country exactly six hours before being exiled for life.

He poked one of the buttons on the keyboard and scowled. "Make it look at the British Isles. I ain't been kicked outta there." Yet.

"Wales maybe. Or…. I dunno. England?"

* * *

If Lydia wasn't already very attached to her shiny, new computer, she would have just passed it off to him. Instead, she googled "Great Britain" and skimmed over the images that popped up on the screen.

"Why are you even asking me then? You obviously know where you want to go."

She sounded more annoyed than she actually was with her suggestion of visiting Japan so swiftly shot down. Really, she didn't care where they went but was suddenly unenthused from searching more.

"You're the boss. You decide," she huffed, falling back against the pillows and navigating down the screen so that he could see all the different scenic photos of the land he'd instructed her to showcase.

"I don't care."

* * *

Clearly, she did care. But he didn't care for her new tone or the bratty way she flopped back into the cushions. He had half a mind to take all her treats back, except the clothes. Those were a human necessity.

He wasn't that much of a monster.

"Oh, you don't care? Good. I'm glad to hear that. We'll go to Ireland. I know a guy who's haunt is about to be up on a little place in the woods. He's modernized it n' everything."

He pointed at a map of the country, his gnarled nail settling right above a dot marked "Cork" on the coast.

"I'll go ahead n' make sure it's ready. You stay put and order food if'n ya get hungry. Don't leave the room. Am I clear?"

He settled the point by turning her face to look at him with a firm grip on her chin.

"Look up pictures of Dunroche Keep. I'll be back b'fore ya know it."

* * *

_Don't leave the room._

A grubby mitt forced her face his way with easy strength to dig his point in, and Lydia was unamused. The way he ordered her around left something to be desired. She wasn't even planning on leaving the room before he told her she wasn't allowed! Now she had to. On basic principle.

Just because he was her husband didn't mean he owned her. Neither did kissing or… or the other stuff.

_Am I clear?_

"Crystal."

A defiant fire lit up within her irises. Rather than looking up photos the way he instructed, her fingers remained still on the keyboard. Everything was still. Too much so, as though she was waiting for something.

"Don't take too long."


	4. Chapter 4

He growled at the defiant light in her eyes and all at once the sound of every door and window locking sounded in the spacious hotel room. He bent down to kiss her firmly and before their lips could separate, he was gone.

It wasn't exactly a lie that he'd known the man who haunted the castle. Eons ago, it seemed, he served his own two hundred years in this place. The thing needed work. He rolled up his sleeves and got to it, stacking the brick walls back into place and modernizing everything from the heat to the lighting to the furniture.

He left much of the gothic charm of the place. Tapestries were hung and restored of unicorns, massive serpents, the lady of the house. He flipped the latter off as he walked by, half expecting her to criticize his work from the portrait. It took two days, but he was finally satisfied that the place was livable. Most of her new clothes were summoned at one point and they hung neatly in his wife's new wardrobe in the West wing.

Now, to convince her to come home.

* * *

_Two days._ That smarmy bastard left her locked up in this pretty, gilded cage for _two days_. All she could access was the bathroom and the main room. The halls and elevator were off-limits. Anything she ordered over the phone for room service appeared on a silver tray at the table without anyone ever coming to knock and deliver. If ever she lifted the phone from the receiver with intent to call the front desk to conduct a rescue mission, it was as though the line could read her thoughts and went dead before she ever got the chance to utter _help_.

She was incensed. _Outraged_. Lydia had half a mind to throw everything he gave her in the jacuzzi out of sheer spite– or better yet, out the window. In the end, she was glad she didn't. Otherwise, the only entertainment she would have had was the television. Still, she didn't need any of this shit. She didn't need a structured roof over her head or fun toys. She definitely didn't need _him_.

Toward the end of the first day, all of her new clothes up and disappeared, leaving her with the Morticia gown, several terry cloth robes, and the defunct items squashed into her backpack to wear. Maybe the laptop and camera would simply poof away, too. Maybe the entire goddamn hotel would just disintegrate beneath her feet until she splattered on the concrete below.

He couldn't tell when he came back, but she was pissed. Solitary isolation sometimes had that effect on people. The reason he couldn't tell was that she was asleep; nestled dead center in the large bed that encompassed their honeymoon suite, every muscle lax and sweet, seemingly without a care in the world.

* * *

He was somewhat relieved that she was asleep when he got back, dozing peacefully and sweet in the king bed as though he'd never left.

He kicked off his boots and delicately climbed in behind her, wrapping his arm around her waist to gently kiss her awake. He started with her shoulder, working his way up her neck until he could nuzzle in behind her ear, humming softly.

"Wake up, beautiful. I'm sure sorry I was gone so long, but the keep was in worse condition than I thought. Had to make sure it was ready for ya. How ya feelin', hmm? You're so _warm…_ 's nice…."

* * *

A gritty male voice delved through the haze to drag her back to consciousness, bites of cold in the form of soft kisses dappled across her shoulder and neck aiding him in this endeavor. As soon as she was back to a semi-cognizant state and aware of her surroundings, any peace or tranquility vanished with the scowl she aimed over her shoulder at his too-happy face.

Ignoring what he had to say completely, she turned back around to bury her face and neck beneath a pillow and guard the sensitive flesh against his frigid touch.

"And you're _cold_."

Apparently, Lydia didn't give a good God damn about his work in Ireland, still sore that he'd locked her up here for so long.

"You don't get to tell me where I can and can't go."

She didn't waste any time in correcting him on his bullshit, her tone riding the natural morning aggression of the average individual who was woken rudely and prematurely.

"You don't get to just lock me in a room and disappear for days. I won't... I won't stay if you treat me like that. I'll run away."

* * *

Oh. So she was mad.

"I'm sorry, babes. Promise it won't happen again. I'll tell ya exactly how long I think I'll be gone and then you'll know."

He glazed over the "trapped in a room" part, not wanting to promise too much that he couldn't follow through on.

"Come on, kitten… look at me. Just for a second… I missed those big beautiful eyes."

He rubbed her back in slow, gentle circles. If she was anything like the other women he'd known it would take her hours to be ready to leave. He checked one of his watches. Morning. A steaming cup of coffee appeared on the nightstand closest to her, the aroma floating invitingly through the room.

"Yer clothes are all set up in yer closet back in Cork. Wanna go see it?"

* * *

She never could hold a grudge.

Lydia was sharp, but not enough to notice the way he pointedly avoided acknowledging that he locked her up like a criminal. All she heard was an apology floating amidst a sea of pretty compliments. It had been a lonely two days. Her better senses were dulled by the pull of physical and emotional comfort he promised.

All senses except smell. His petting drew her out from the blanket long enough to let him hug and kiss on her properly, but the scent of the coffee pulled her crawling to the other side of the large bed where the liquid gold sat steaming.

"Cork is a silly name for a town," she announced not judgmentally, musing into her coffee. "Not as romantic as Winter River."

It wasn't a no.

"Why are you banned from Japan? What did you _do?"_

Again, without any disdain or judgment, she called it like she saw it with cold, innocent honesty.

"You're a bad man. You've killed people. What else have you done?"

* * *

"Japan? Ya don't wanna know."

He followed her, crawling after her to settle her on one knee with her coffee. He kept up the circles on her back, keeping a close eye on her in case she lashed out for any reason. She had been a two-sided coin since he brought her here.

_You're a bad man._

That much was true. He hadn't been a good man even in life. What had he done? What _hadn't_ he? It was a complicated question, and not one he was ready to answer here.

"Again. Ya don't wanna know."

He kissed her cheek gently. "Come on, kid. Let's go check out yer new castle. A palace for my princess."

* * *

Full of nothing but suspicion, she glared at his nickname and the things he was saying. _Princess_. She wanted to cut his throat. This was the con, wasn't it? He was going to take her off to this fort she couldn't remember the name of and therefore couldn't google, and it was going to be remodeled completely in pastels.

"So you just get to know everything about me for no logical reason, and I don't get to know anything about you?"

For the time being, she tolerated his closeness, but he was being unfair.

"By the way, _why is it_ you know everything about me?"

If this question was brushed off as well, he would have a temper tantrum on his hands. But for now, she was calm, placated by gourmet coffee and his rhythmic petting.

* * *

"You can know about me. Just gotta ask more specific questions."

He nuzzled into her hair, breathing deep. He had missed her, which was strange and new territory for him. He never missed people. There was no time to dwell on it.

"Why do I know about ya? Let's see…. could have somethin' to do with bein' trapped in yer attic for almost a year. Could have to do with ya bein' my wife…. take yer pick."

He was quickly getting tired of her brattiness. It was cute at first, but she needed to remember who was in charge.

"Finish yer coffee and we're goin' home."

* * *

A year? _A whole year?!_ Suddenly, two days didn't seem that bad. Being trapped in that little plastic town for that long, no one's company but his own was unimaginable. Guilty over the fit she'd thrown, suddenly less righteous, she retreated into her coffee at the revelation, drinking even faster when he ordered her to do so.

After the guilt was good and settled in her gut, a heavy wave of shame crashed down to join it when she remembered how many times she used to retreat to that room in particular. Comforted by what she had thought was solitude, she escaped up there for anything and everything; reading, singing, dancing, photography, whatever fleeting impulse nagged at her.

He had seen _so much_. He saw… _God_ , he saw when she read Macbeth aloud, start to finish, playing every character... with _feeling_. Her cheeks could not have been any redder.

"I'm ready," she swallowed, feeling even warmer from the speedy coffee intake.

* * *

With the words leaving her mouth, they were gone. The couple and all of Lydia's belongings were transported to the scene of his hard work, the devices and such banished to her chambers while he took her arm out on the front path.

It was just barely mid-afternoon in Ireland, the sun high and bright sparkling over the sea that crashed against the cliffs beneath their property. Gulls and other seabirds were chatting loudly as they flitted about over the water, the light catching on the ends of their wings.

There was a border of red rosebushes lining the front walkway, their vines and branches so entangled with time that it was impossible to tell just how many bushes had started out. They'd climbed up an arched trellis, providing shade from the hot sun.

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it gently. "Well? Go on. Have fun exploring."

* * *

Finally, the way he had been wanting it to, her breath caught in her throat. It was far too lovely. He wasn't just fucking with her when he called this place a palace. The only kingdoms she had ever seen were made of concrete and steel. This was a monument of marble and cobblestone, ancient and all-commanding in its beauty.

The nightgown he left for her, slept in once‒ she slept naked the first night in a ploy to tempt him to return‒ was beyond common things like wrinkles. It flowed along like ink in water as she followed the path, Betelgeuse trailing just behind her like _la bete_ giving _la belle_ the very first tour of her prison.

Despite the bright sunlight, it was cold in Ireland this time of year, painting her snowy cheeks pink as she hurried along the path of rebelliously healthy blooming roses. The closer she got to the entrance, the larger she realized this place really was. This wasn't even the main entrance! This was a courtyard on the side of the castle, the double doors leading inside actually light enough for her to handle pushing one of them open.

They were meant to be attended to by guards, after all.

* * *

He smiled as she took in the sights of her new home, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink that nearly matched the roses. Appearing on the other side of the door when she pushed it, he held it open for her and waving her through like a valet.

"M'lady. Welcome home."

He chuckled to himself, pleased with the reaction he garnered from his little wife. Kissing her cheek as she passed, he wrapped his arm around her waist as they ventured further into the palace. They had entered onto the corridor for the West Wing, the area he carefully maintained to be used by Lydia exclusively. There was a sweeping staircase to the left and heavy oak doors to the right.

He pulled her there, grinning as he pushed open the doors to her private library and parlor. "Tah dah!"

There was a portrait hanging over the fireplace, the former Lady of the Manor. She was dressed in the style of a long-gone century, a squared-off neckline gown embroidered heavily in green and silver was topped by a French mantle, her hair hidden from view.

He remembered it well, though. It was long and fiery red. He pointed at it with a soft smile. "That is Saoirse Miriam Betelgeuse. She was the one who had this place built."

He smiled and patted her back gently. "My grandmother. She was an incredible woman. You'd have loved her."

* * *

Not quite able to believe that this palace was her "home", Lydia allowed him to guide her this way and that, jaw slack as her mind tried to imprint each exquisite detail that crossed her gaze.

"This place is enormous, Betelgeuse…"

Forgetting herself, she slipped up and said his name, but if he was saying it, everything must have been copasetic on that front. Just once was probably okay.

"I could haunt here for two-hundred years and I'd never see every room."

After this library, she didn't _need_ to see any more rooms. It was dark and medieval, the books filed away in polished wooden cabinets with intricately carved metal grating over the doors to allow colorful spines to peek through. The only windows in the room were up high toward the ceiling, stained glass shading any incoming light in cool hues that contrasted with the lush, vividly red seating lining the center of the hall.

The tables and desks were every bit as lovely as the bookshelves, made of the same type of wood with matching iron detailing on the corners and feet. This was a room where important meetings were meant to take place, classes taught, great learning accomplished– not a hangout spot for an immature teenage brat to read fairytales.

Lydia felt quite small indeed, even more so under the tapestry of his powerful grandmother. This wasn't just some random castle he had bullied the inhabitants out of. This was _his_ castle, in name and propriety, likely the place he was born and raised. Why had she assumed he came from the gutter?

It was probably all the mold.

"She's beautiful."

* * *

He smiled and nodded.

"She was my favorite person in the world."

Memories of his childhood floated around for a moment. His grandmother was only thirty-six when he was born, and thus had plenty of energy to keep up with her grandson. She had been the one person he trusted as his world changed. He rubbed Lydia's back in the slow, comforting circles he'd picked up and looked between the two women with a smile.

"She passed when I was sixteen. She was old for the time, but her hair was still mostly red when she passed. I remember that… She was a spitfire for sure."

He pulled her out of the study and toward the bedchambers connected to the library by a servant's corridor which he showed her how to open out of the molding in her bedroom wall.

"These connect the whole house. I used to sneak through them to visit Nana, n' later visit the girls who came t'stay with my Ma for finishin' school."

He chuckled and went to the wardrobe. "All yer clothes are here, n' the jewelry in the jewelry box is some I got fer you n' some that's been in my family. Ya don't gotta wear any of it, o'course, but…"

* * *

It was odd seeing this side of him. He was surprisingly human, not just a striped monstrosity spat out of Hell's asscrack.

_Secret doors._ Lydia was enchanted. Who knew how many fun little hidey-holes there were to explore in this place? It would be easy to get lost. They had only been walking around for a few minutes and she had already forgotten how to get back to the courtyard.

The bedroom which was to be hers was just as cultivated to her style as the clothing was, with a massive bed propped up on a pedestal several steps above the rest of the room. Its pillows and dressings were all in pristine white crushed velvet and satin melting into a frame of dark, polished wood. Black gossamer curtains were suspended from each poster, providing a luxurious, sheer contrast to the purity of the sheets.

Cold cobblestone made up the rest of the floor, but the steps leading up to the bed area were covered with cozy cream carpet that was impossibly deep and lush on her still-bare feet. There was a fireplace in this room too, its design appropriately matching the rest of the decor, unique from the one in the library. A set of curtained glass French doors led out to a spacious balcony, while another set of wooden French doors brought them to a walk-in closet that housed the clothing and jewelry he was currently showcasing.

Throughout the tour, Lydia remained mostly silent, awed by the grandiosity. This was more opulence that she had ever seen at once, even when she was living the life of a spoiled Manhattanite Princess.

"I'll wear it," she promised as he held up a stunning antique cameo loose in the box of treasures. It would look lovely attached to a lace choker.

"Who _were_ you?" She asked in the past tense, as he certainly wasn't this castle-dwelling princely figure anymore. "Were you really important? Like a Lord? Is your name in a history book somewhere?"

* * *

"I was Lutheran. Know that. Definitely remember that… the Holy Roman came and wiped us out. That's how I ended up Stateside."

He ran his hand up the bedpost and shrugged. "Think I'm on a census. Charles was King when I was alive n' workin', I know that, too. 'Bout all I got for ya, kid."

He sighed and forced a smile. "This place was still in the family. Great-great-somethin' nephew. He didn't even realize the deed was gone. Eighty-eight. Cancer. His kids were gonna sell it anyway… can you imagine?"

* * *

"You have living descendants?"

It made sense but was still strange to think about. It was even stranger thinking about what it might be like to actually want to sell this palace. If this was hers, she would _never_ let it go.

But…

It _was_ hers, wasn't it? At least half.

"I like my room."

Bashful, she tugged at a wavy lock of hair fallen over her shoulder, still unsure at how she was supposed to behave in response to all these gifts and luxuries. The new laptop and camera were sitting atop a coffee table in the sitting area near the fireplace.

"Show me the rest! I want to see it all, until I can't walk anymore. Where's your room? Do you have one? Since you don't need sleep? I guess that's no reason to not have a bedroom…"

* * *

He chuckled at her sudden excitement. He wrapped his arm around her waist once more and kissed her cheek.

"I like seein' ya this happy, Lyds. Makes me almost happy."

He led her to another servant's exit beside her wardrobe. With two rights and a left, they were opening another door onto the master bedroom. He hadn't bothered with fixing up his own chambers. Someone had come through and cleaned since after he died but probably not since. There was a large four-post bed with deep emerald drapes tied back to reveal the bare feather mattress.

The wardrobe was missing a door. He'd looked it up. It was in a museum somewhere, sold to them by a generous benefactor. He suspected the nephew, or else his parents. Surprisingly, his arms were still there. A collection of swords hanging from the wall in a neat line.

"This is it. Ain't much to look at. Think some of my underwear's still in the wardrobe, but bear in mind that just means the shirts. We didn't fuck with panties or boxers in my day. You could just hike a skirt, drop trou, n' get to work. Good times."

* * *

There was a potential for majesty in this room, but it was in obvious disrepair, dusty and misused. Perfect for her unhygienic husband. It seemed a touch larger than her room, but that might have been because his was bereft of furniture. The swords made her _"ooooh"_ and reach out to touch, swiping a dainty finger across the dusty, flat surface of the blade.

"Neat!"

Still energized, Lydia flitted away once her curiosity was sated; peaking through a random door to find his bathing chamber, then another that led to an unexplored towering hall.

"Which way is the kitchen? I _love_ cooking. Is it enormous and full of everything? Like the ones in movies? Big enough to cook a feast?"

The idea of having a kitchen that impressive at her disposal was supremely attractive, even though she knew she would never use it at its full capacity. The stone floors were cold on her still bare feet, and she tugged at his sleeve when he caught up to request very politely;

"Uhm, BJ? You know the thing you do where you just make stuff _poof_ out of nowhere? Would you _poof_ me some slippers, please? It's cold."

* * *

He chuckled as she bounced around the room. He could get her slippers…. or…

He scooped her up and onto his shoulder, settling her skinny hip in the curve of his neck. The requested slippers were summoned, though he made no move to set her down as he headed for the kitchens. He wandered down the required staircase and as soon as they entered a fire sprang to life in the massive fireplace. There was a spit hanging over it and ancient iron kettles waiting to boil.

"Here's yer kitchen, babes. Not much to it. Tables. A pantry. That's it…"

* * *

Lydia squeaked when he elevated her through the air so suddenly, but settled easily as he began walking at a faster pace than she possibly could with his long stride. The ride was made more comfortable by the plush fuzzy cat slippers he materialized around her cold feet.

_Not much to it._

Was he blind?! Immediately, she wriggled down from his shoulder to explore and touch things in this room as well. Lydia had never seen a kitchen with a fireplace in her life! Only in movies. One wall held all manner of different types of pots and pans hanging up, polished copper gleaming as though it had never been used. There was a smaller fireplace that serviced a brick oven connected to the larger one, shelves and shelves and _shelves_ of seasonings above a stove with a dozen burners and then some, wooden barrels and burlap sacks filling up the pantry with mystery goods– likely flour and other staples.

Not a single package of Ramen to be found.

Several hanging planters were suspended before a large window above a farm-sized double sink, flourishing herbs growing out past the lip just as healthy and robust as the roses in the courtyard. She reached up to tear off a sprig of rosemary, just for the pleasure of smelling it and imagining all the different meals she could cook here.

"It's _amazing_. What's your favorite meal? I'm going to cook it whenever I get the chance. I'm a good cook, so I promise it won't be bad."

* * *

"I don't eat, kid. Remember?"

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as she thrilled over the kitchen. Maybe he should have started to tour here. She seemed enamored by all of it. He picked himself a sprig of mint and popped it into his mouth to chew on, settling in a stool near the door that led out to the vegetable garden.

"My favorite meal's gonna be the one my wife cooks for me. How 'bout that? I do like savory pies though. Pasties, steak 'n ale pie… Shepherds. Any o' those." He opened the door and gestured her close. "C'mere and lemme carry ya through this next part. Don't want yer slippers gettin' dirty…"

There was every imaginable plant out there to cook with. Lettuce, chard, and other greens all shared one raised planter while another was bursting with squash and peppers. The potatoes looked nearly dead from the cold, but he knew there were tubers just waiting for Lydia to dig them up.

A trellis against one of the stone walls boasted thriving pea tendrils on one end and grapes on another. Massive, unattended fruit trees bordered the greenhouse, and he took his time remembering what they all were.

"Apple, Orange, pomegranate… that one's a peach, I think. Lemon. Oh, n' that guy grows pecans."

* * *

The room he carried her through to despite her pouting– she was much too excitable and energized to be robbed of the right to walk and explore at her leisure– was a sort of greenhouse with brick walls, a rickety wooden door that led out to an orchard bordering the courtyard, and a pointed glass ceiling. It was designed so that any rainwater would roll down the slides and trickle through slotted gutters to nourish plants growing on the walls while what was leftover was directed through an irrigation system that watered the rest of the garden.

A hose connected to an internal pipe was hung up on the wall near the door, likely in case of a drought. Lydia longed to jump down and inspect the bounty, but his hold on her was tight, and she didn't really want to get her new slippers all muddy. They were cute and warm.

"Pecans!" She bounced on his shoulder as though she was about to hop down and runoff. "I love pecan pie! And peach cobbler! Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Let me cook something!"

* * *

He couldn't help the grin that spread over him as she bounced on his shoulder. She was finally getting back to the Lydia he remembered from Connecticut, if not even happier.

"Okay, okay. Ain't really good food in that kitchen so tell me what ya need and I'll poof it."

He walked back to the kitchen and set her on the counter, pressing a kiss to her jaw gently, just because he could.

He left her there to decide on a recipe as he stoked the fire. He'd always dreamed of having a lady restored to this old place. Of course, when he was alive, he imagined a wealthy heiress too finicky to cook her own meals.

As he watched Lydia explore her new domain, he found he didn't mind the change of plans.


	5. Chapter 5

A thousand meals flickered through Lydia's mind when she was finally given free rein of the kitchen, the girl instantly hopping from the counter once she had been set down and kissed.

"Boeuf bourguignon maybe…?" She muttered to herself, admiring a set of sharp cutlery. "No, that'll take all day… need something faster… Ribeye? No, something like that needs longer to marinate… I know!"

She was already pulling out dishes; a cutting board, a large knife, a skillet, a cookie sheet, and a large pot to fill with water. A white apron with red polka dots was hung up next to the fireplace, and she strung it over her neck and around her hip without even thinking about it, having no desire to get her pretty Morticia dress dirty.

"I need a pound of large shrimp; raw, deveined and deshelled, a block of parmesan, a pint of cream, a stick of butter, and a loaf of French bread– the crusty kind."

A braid of garlic hung beside a basket of harvested onions, and Lydia gathered some of both along with a handful of basil leaves. Shrimp Alfredo was a classic, one which she hadn't had the privilege of eating or preparing in years, and never with so many tools and ingredients at her disposal. Within moments she had a mouthwatering aroma dispersing through the unused kitchens, finely minced garlic and herbs simmering in butter while she seasoned shrimp in a bowl off to the side.

"Thank you," she called yet again over her shoulder, quiet and meaningful, the girl quite grateful that she was even standing there, handling these ingredients. "I haven't cooked a real meal since… in a long time."

* * *

He sat on the counter and watched her work, leaning against the cool brick wall behind him. This was… domestic. More domestic than he was used to being.

He sighed softly. When had this become the goal? When had he become content with this kind of humdrum human shit? Still. It was awfully cute to see her all dressed up like that. He smiled and pulled her close to him in distraction when she set the shrimp aside.

"It smells good, baby… you're the best. We should have ya cook all the time."

* * *

Cold fingers reached for her as she passed, catching under her arms and around her ribs to trap her, and she fell into a lapse of giggles, fighting not to drop the bowl of shrimp.

"Okay! _Okay, I will!_ Just let go!"

Cooking every day in a kitchen like this sounded like an excellent use of her time. Eventually, she was able to slip away shrimp unscathed, and set about prepping garlic bread.

"Cooking is like witchcraft. You can make someone feel better…" Her knife came down sharp and quick on defenseless basil leaves. "… or worse. If you were so inclined. The right combination of spices and oils and herbs and plants can cure just about any ailment‒ except serious diseases, of course… but it still helps."

* * *

"Yer a regular medicine woman, Lyds."

He snuck a pinch of the basil and popped it into his mouth. Nothing. But it was worth a shot. He could never let Lydia know that he had no sense of taste, not if she wanted to cook for him like this. Everything was grave dirt. He pressed his lips to her temple and slipped off the counter to stoke the fire again.

"This is nice. Little warmth on these old bones, huh?"

He was wishing the warmth did more. The only time he seemed to truly get warm was when he was cuddled up with Lydia.

"C'mere when ya get a sec. Wanna hold ya a minute…"

* * *

Intrigued by his tired, honest request‒ more of a command really‒ Lydia turned the simmering butter down much lower. One by one, she continued with prepping tasks until she didn't have anything left to do; folding basil into the marinating shrimp, grating parmesan, brushing some of the garlic butter and herbs onto sliced bread.

Everything was ready. If she was to move forward now, she would have to cook it to finish. No more stalling. Timid now, no longer sure of herself the way she was when she moved in the kitchen, she shuffled his way in her kitten slippers, nightgown, and apron. Unbrushed wavy hair swept ineffectually atop her head, she certainly did make for a vision of domesticity‒ were it not for how dangerously thin she was.

He looked asleep almost. He wouldn't hurt her.

Nearly soundlessly, she climbed up onto his thigh between his spread legs, settling into the nook of his elbow and slowly allowing her head to loll against his chest.

"Are you tired?"

Just because he didn't need sleep didn't mean he couldn't get tired.

"I can make coffee if you want."

* * *

He sighed happily as she settled against him, rubbing his hand slowly up and down her thin, delicate arm. Finally. Warmth.

_Are you tired? I can make coffee if you want._

He shrugged, careful not to jostle her too much from her perch on his thigh. He didn't need coffee. It wouldn't make a difference anyway.

"I'm always tired, kitten. But thanks for the concern."

He slid his hand down to rest on her hip, nearly asleep with her warm against his chest and the amount of juice he had used up making the place perfect.

"We can go t'bed after dinner, huh? I can anyway… 's yer house, do what ya want."

* * *

" _My_ house?!"

That was just factually incorrect in every way. It was only half hers, and it certainly wasn't anything so simple as a house.

"That's silly. I'm not sleepy." After a good meal was settled in her belly, her tune would likely change. "But you can go to sleep if you want… I don't know if I could find my way back to your room, though. Or carry you."

His arm was heavy around her, impeding her effort when she attempted sitting up.

"Let me go so I can finish food and get you to bed, sleepyhead!"

* * *

He chuckled softly at the thought of her trying to carry him to bed. She could barely hold herself up let alone his bulk.

He pressed a kiss to her cheek softly and let her go, watching her return to cooking their meal.

This was probably bad. He shouldn't be getting so attached to her. Sure, he needed to stay close for him to be able to stay topside, but that didn't mean he had to do all… mushy. He hauled himself to his feet and slipped in behind her, his hand sliding over her stomach and onto her hip.

"Mmm… ya look real good in this apron, baby. Bet you'd look even better in _just_ the apron."

* * *

He caught her sauteing shrimp, intermittently dropping cheese to whisk into the heated cream. Somehow despite his size, he managed to sneak up on her, an inelegant sound escaping her lips and a little bit of cheese falling onto the burner with a hiss as he was suddenly there, overwhelming her space.

"That…" she shivered, then continued working, unable to stop now or she would overcook the shrimp. "It's too cold down here for that. I would freeze."

It was a weak excuse, but she couldn't think of a better one. Laying with him fully as husband and wife was a scary concept, and it seemed he was quite keen on getting on with the thrill.

"I just‒ didn't want to get my dress dirty. It's pretty."

* * *

He chuckled at the sad little excuse and kissed her cheek. A dozen counterpoints flickered at the tip of his tongue. _There's a nice big fire right there. You'll be warm from cooking. Sex makes you hot._

None of them made it past his lips. He was far too busy sucking a hickey onto her neck. If he couldn't fuck her, he would at least leave his mark. She needed to get healthy and fast. He slid his hand down to grab her ass playfully.

"Guess we can bench the idea for now. But I'm gonna come back to it!" He kissed her cheek once more before retreating to let her finish cooking. "Dress ain't the only pretty thing 'round here ya know."

* * *

Oh, he was a _charmer_. While he suckled at her neck, she was incapable of little more than buckling at the knees, stammering like an idiot, and neglecting dinner. He soon granted mercy, squeezing her ass and backing off. A relieved breath fell past and slumped her shoulders upon his departure. She could only handle so much attention like that before her legs would give out.

Dinner was served at the servant's table in front of the fire, on plain china and cutlery that was not retrieved from the high cabinet Lydia couldn't reach. A nice chardonnay was waiting at the table already when she came near balancing two plates. Now there was a second smaller hickey to join the larger fading one just inches higher on the thin lily-white column of her throat.

"Mmm," she took a deep sip of the golden wine before touching her food, feeling the alcohol immediately as it hit her empty stomach. "That's good… Thank you."

The food was delicious, and she was proud of herself for it, but she was too hungry to bother checking to see if he was enjoying.

* * *

Watching but not eating, he hummed as she dug into their dinner. He picked at it a bit, but when her serving was gone, he easily passed his portion over with a smile.

"Eat up, kiddo. You need it more'n me."

He sipped at his wine and watched her closely. So many glimpses of what he started to think of as her old self were coming through the cracked, injured facade that foster care had built around her. He refilled her glass with a grin when it emptied, reaching over to rub his thumb over her hand.

"So. Whatcha wanna do with this place? I'm sure ya got plans for the garden at least, right? Maybe we should do somethin' about my room, I guess…"

* * *

Lydia was uninsulted that he didn't seem too interested in the food. Despite how many times she had seen him both eat and sleep, he maintained that he didn't need either. So rather than fussing, she took his plate and dug right in, ravenous from all the walking around. Fresh herbs made everything taste so much better.

Two glasses of wine deep and her cheeks were starting to feel warm, eyelids heavy.

_Whatcha wanna do with this place?_

"You don't have any blankets." That seemed a horrible shame. He deserved blankets at least. "I don't have the first clue what to do with it. It's already so perfect. I haven't even seen half of it and I'm already a little burned out…"

* * *

He chuckled at her indignation for his lack of bedclothes. He shook his head and shrugged. "I'll juice some. Blankets. You got it."

He watched her pretty honey-colored eyes flag and droop, her cheeks a soft petal pink. He could feel himself getting too attached to his little wife, more and more every second she was here. When the food was done with, he waved a hand to clear and clean the dishes, coming around the table and holding out his arms.

"Alright, sleepy. C'mere. Let's get ya to bed, huh?"

* * *

"I'm not sleepy," she argued for the sake of it, kicking out weakly with her kitty-covered foot. " _You're_ sleepy."

Contrarily, a pale hand came to lay limp on his thick, striped arm‒ giving permission in a sense, and in a moment she was cradled to his chest like a babe. Stubbornly she stayed awake the entire walk back to her bedchambers, trying hard to memorize the directions so as to better explore the greenhouse tomorrow.

"The library's through there…" she muttered aloud drowsily as they passed, maybe unaware she was doing so. "But where's… my room…?"

* * *

He chuckled at her running commentary, kissing her cheek gently, just because he could. "That's right, babes… good remembering."

He carried her through the door to her chambers, which opened for him to walk through on its own. Her long black nightgown melted away until she was wearing a pair of soft cotton shorts and a tank top. The rooms could get hot with the fires going, and having no sense of temperature outside the soft warmth of his wife cradled to his chest, he didn't want to risk it.

"You mortals. Always hungry, sleepy, n' cute as hell. Maybe 's just you." He set her on the edge of the bed with a dramatized sigh. Rubbing his hands up her sides gently, he nuzzled close to kiss her lips quickly.

"You gonna be okay here or ya want me to stay with ya?"

* * *

"You don't have any blankets," she reiterated in answer as though he was an idiot, scooting far over and pulling the covers back with her in open invitation. "… and… and if I needed anything and tried to go looking for you in the dark, I'd get lost."

This was a complete farce. She wouldn't need to go looking for him for anything, and if she did, she would find him. His bereft chambers were close.

"Just‒ give me a minute to get warm. You're cold."

In the face of her silly lie, it seemed unreasonable to ask him not to touch her at all, so she didn't. By no means did it feel bad when he ran his roughened palms over her, but it unmistakably felt wrong. It also could not be discounted that he was cold. Very cold.

* * *

He waved a hand and the fireplace roared to life with heat and flame. He didn't want her to freeze, but he surely wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to hold her against him. Tucking the lowermost quilt around her provided a layer of protection between them. He stripped off his suit until he was left in a filthy wife-beater and his slacks.

Climbing in behind her, he pulled her close in her little cocoon of blankets, pressing kisses to her face wherever he could get his lips on her.

"Yer adorable. C'mere n' cuddle. It'll warm up soon, huh?"

* * *

The way he bundled her up and pulled her in like she was his own personal teddy bear, it didn't leave much of a choice for whether or not she wanted to cuddle. Despite the drowsy buzz from alcohol, Lydia wasn't lying earlier. She wasn't particularly tired. It was difficult to sleep in new places‒ barring the hotel, as she had been so very tired, and she'd stayed there before so it wasn't exactly new.

The air was tense. She wasn't falling asleep. He wasn't falling asleep. Lydia was more inclined to get up and keep exploring than to continue cuddling. It was getting warmer, though…

"This is really…" She struggled to find the right word. " _Surreal_. I technically live here alone, don't I…? That's crazy to think about…"

* * *

He listened to her closely, ready to make a run for it if she seemed too upset. She was at least somewhat relaxed in his arms, all bundled in her blankets.

"Surreal? Why would living in an ancient castle with your dead husband feel surreal, baby?" He chuckled and kissed her cheek again. "Come on, kitten. Talk to me. There's stuff on yer mind, I can see it." He rolled her toward him, letting his arms go lax as he laid there facing her.

"Ain't this better than the foster house? You can have anythin' ya want here with me…"

* * *

It wasn't even a question if this was better than the Gallaghers.

"Of course it is," she was quick to agree, worried. Did she seem ungrateful? "I love it. I love everything. I want to go take photos in the courtyard tomorrow if it's alright. Is there a family grave around here? This seems like the kind of place that would have one of those…"

She had more freedom now with the way he placed her and drew her skinny arms out from beneath the toasty quilt. His perpetual source of cool had turned into more of a relief than an annoyance.

"I'm just not used to all the…" she gulped, frightened of how he might respond. "Touching."

Flushed and nervous, she focused solely on the smattering of mossy white-blonde hair poking out from his wife beater, unable to meet his gaze.

"Mr. Gallagher felt me up sometimes… nothing too bad, but I usually avoided the house when I knew he was going to be drunk." Which was all the time. "The other boys weren't much better… but that's all the experience I have, really… and you."

* * *

He scowled as she explained her hesitance with being touched. It made sense that that asshole called a foster parent had gone for her. She was perfect after all.

Nodding, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek gently. "Hey. If ya don't like it you can tell me. Gotta tell ya, it's hard to keep my hands off ya. I'll try though. If ya need me to."

He took a deep breath and forced a smile, plans for how he would destroy Jonathan floating through his mind. No one got to touch his girl and then go scot-free.

"Pictures sound great. N' yeah, there's a cemetery between here n' where the chapel used t'be. I'll show ya."

* * *

"I _do_ like when you touch me," she admitted a little too quickly, ashamed of herself for comparing his touch to theirs. "I think I like it too much…"

That was an honest thing to say.

… _there's a cemetery between here and where the chapel used to be._

"Used to be?" Alert, full of youthful energy, she sprung awake in his lazy hold, ready to go now. "What happened to it? Is it not there anymore? Are there _ruins?"_

An ancient grove, a rundown old chapel, and her husband's family tomb would make for a stunning photography date. She was already planning what she would pack for their picnic lunch.

* * *

He chuckled at her sudden excitement, gazing up at her adoringly through the low light of the now fading fire. For a moment he was thrown back to the last time he had been here, in this room. He was just thirteen, or thereabout, and his grandmother had been on her last legs. He sat beside her and told her everything he was going to be and do when he was a real man.

She had smiled at him the way he was now smiling at his wife. She passed some time later, and he avoided her rooms at all costs until now. He couldn't help reaching up to rub his thumb over her cheek, gently holding her jaw in his palm.

"I dunno. Was only here long enough to fix the place up for ya. But again… Protestant chapel. Either got Catholicized or destroyed…"

* * *

An involuntary tingle shot down her spine as his icy hand encompassed the entire side of her face, gently petting. This time it wasn't because he was cold, or she was romanced. She, too, was feeling nostalgic, recalling a time when someone who used to be alive would tuck her into bed, make sure she was comfortable, and read her a bedtime story.

Those were just fairytales. The things Betelgeuse spoke of were real, but listening to him talk and cared for as she was by him it felt the same. The weight of his palm kept her head still on the pillow without any effort on his part. Tricking her into breathing the way he wanted her to, his thumb stroked in a steady slow rhythm until her breaths matched.

For a long while, she went silent, allowing both himself and her the luxury of quiet. Since he touched her at the hotel, giving her pleasure she didn't know what to do with, Lydia had born anxiety over the prospect of sharing a bed with him again. With the layer of quilt between them and the sweet way he was babying her, she finally felt safe enough to relax and let go of irrational fears.

"My father was German…" she informed without prompting since she now knew so much about his heritage, eyes closed and voice heavy on the verge of sleep. "… and my mother was Russian… and that's about all I know about that. Maybe I'm related to some Lord or Lady who had a castle way back when… probably just milkmaids and nazis though…"

* * *

He hummed as he listened. "Maybe one o' yer grandma's was a Tsarina. It would suit you…" He grinned and leaned in to place a peck to her lips.

"Maybe she was a witch!"

He chortled to himself, the laughter slowly fading. It would make sense. Lydia had a lot of the markers that children with magic in their bloodline had, right down to recurring tragedy.

"Maybe we should check it out. Yer ancestors, I mean. Could be a fun project."

* * *

"I doubt I've got anyone that interesting in my family tree. I wouldn't even know where to look or how to check. I guess you have your ghost connections though, right?"

There was probably some sort of giant reference book in the library for dead people he could access and exploit if he wanted, or so Lydia imagined as she trod the line of consciousness. He could probably call up her great-great-great-grandmother and chat her up for shits and giggles. _Bizarre_.

"There are DNA tests that can tell you your exact ethnicity down to the percentage. Could get one of those… but it won't tell me if I come from anybody neat or special."

* * *

He hummed, his mind racing. Maybe it was time to do some searching into his wife's lineage, but certainly not tonight. Not with her falling asleep, her head still in his hand and her body warm through the quilt that separated them. It would be too hard to leave her now, for any reason. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her forehead.

"I don't need some stupid DNA test t'tell me Yer special. Anyone who can't see that ain't worth their shit." Smiling, he nuzzled his nose into her hair.

* * *

Eventually, her breaths evened out to an even slower rate until she was gone to the rest of the world, soft and lax beside him. Whether he pulled her closer in the night, she shifted forward on her own, or a combination of both, she awoke completely entrenched in his hold, two heavy arms keeping her pinned to his chest.

At some point during the night, the quilt was pulled, kicked, or– least likely– innocently slipped out from between them, leaving only his wife beater and the thin material of her pajamas separating them. One of his weighty palms had slipped beneath her shirt and was splayed firm and flat between her shoulder blades, holding her to him. The other rested lazily on her ass, his gritty fingers perfectly molded around the curvature of the cheek.

Involuntarily, both cheeks clenched once she realized where his hand was, the ones on her face turning a loving shade of scarlet.

"BJ…" she squeaked atop him, at least somewhat thankful he hadn't just rolled over in the night and crushed her in his sleep. She made the mistake of trying to force herself out of his arms only for him to make a displeased sound and hold on tighter, the hand on the middle of her back pushing down while the one on her ass squeezed tight, ragged claws digging in.

_"Bee–!"_

* * *

He'd pulled her close when she was asleep, but their new positioning seemed to be entirely new to the both of them as he slowly blinked out of the endless black void the dead called sleep.

He smirked softly when he realized just where she was, cuddled up against him with his "morning wood"‒ he would deny he slept at all which made this concept moot‒ pressed against her stomach.

"Mmm. Mornin' kitten. How'd ya sleep?"

He made no moves to release her, his hand softening on her ass but still firm on her back. He rubbed slow circles over the soft globes of her rear, licking his lips playfully.

"Hey, you wanna try somethin'? Like before… when we were kissin'.

* * *

When he came to, she tried again with sleep-weakened limbs to wriggle to freedom, only to fall victim to more cuddling. She pushed up, her exposed lower belly pressed against his crotch, and there was no mistaking the sizable bulge jutting firmly into her. If possible, she weakened further in the face of this obstacle, practically whimpering as she collapsed back against him to accept her fate.

"Good morning," she gulped, toying with the neckline of his wife-beater as he fiddled with the extremely short lacy hem of her sleeping bottoms. "I slept good. Comfy. No bad dreams…"

_Wanna try something? Like before… when we were kissin'._

The hidden rod of flesh pressed to her belly twitched. Lydia's thighs clenched, the muscles he was caressing going taut.

"What… what kind of something?"

* * *

Smirking, he turned them so that she was nestled comfortably back against the pile of pillows that separated them from the headboard. He could start slow. Needed to if he was ever going to have an active marriage. He didn't want to scare her, but _god_ he wanted her.

Kissing her gently, his hands roamed over her thighs and up her stomach to caress her breasts. This was familiar territory. They had done this before.

"Y'ever touch yerself, baby? Or watch porn? I just wanna make ya feel real good, but I gotta know what ya like. You tell Daddy what makes ya hot…."

* * *

In an instant, her world flipped and she was on her back ready to receive the brunt of his affection. While his lips plied gently at hers, his hands moved just as delicately along her silhouette, dragging the flimsy material of her pajamas along with them as they moved over her slight curves.

_Y'ever touch yerself, baby? Or watch porn?_

They were simple enough questions, but Lydia was mortified to answer them.

"Yeah," she admitted as he pulled back from a heated kiss, arms bent and curled against her chest to let him take his fill as she wasn't certain what to do with them.

"But I've never– never been able to… to get myself to… not like _you_ could."

He knew what she was getting at. The porn she had watched once upon a time when she lived a life that afforded her privacy ranged from vanilla to extreme. Bondage and BDSM scenes titillated her more than anything but she wasn't sure how to go about admitting such a thing to her perverse husband.

"It's– I've watched _some_ things… but not a lot… the ones I liked were uhm… uh… it's embarrassing…"

* * *

He smiled and kissed his way down her neck as she spoke, humming softly to indicate his understanding. His hand worked its way slowly closer and closer to the waistband of her shorts.

"Ya don't got nothin' to be embarrassed of, babes. You can tell me. We'll work on yer fantasies together. What are husbands for, huh?"

In one smooth motion, her clothes were banished and he dropped his attention to her now bare tits, a groan bubbling out of him as he kissed and sucked at the soft, supple skin.

"I'm gonna make ya feel so _good_ , baby girl…"

* * *

When her clothing disappeared, she cried out her surprise, a reflexive motion to curl up and cover herself cut off by how quickly he swept down to take advantage of her sudden nudity. The sounds that came after were a string of hitched breaths and stifled gasps as he worked adamantly at marking up her breasts, her husband excited to work on such a pure canvas.

"I saw a video once," she confessed bashfully, a rosy lip caught between her teeth while he dedicated himself to her bare chest, "… where a man made this girl wear kitty cat ears and a tail… and crawl around on the floor and act like his pet…"

She must have been positively crimson to describe such a perverse act to him. She felt like she was burning up, anyway.

"He had a _cage_ for her. They didn't even really do anything… sexual… it was just… something about it made me…" _want to be her._ Lydia cut herself off before saying so. That was far too honest of an admission.

* * *

She was audibly embarrassed to be telling him this, but he was glad she told him anything. He half expected to hear that she never even thought about sex. Pausing his adoration of her chest to look up at her and smile, he pressed a hungry kiss to her lips, humming happily.

"There's nothin' wrong with wantin' someone to take care of ya, Lyds…. that's what I'm here for, 'kay? To take care of ya…" He worked his way lower yet, pressing kisses over her visible ribs and down toward his ultimate goal.

"You just lay back n' relax, kitten…"

* * *

She was rewarded for her honesty with a deep, soul-searching kiss that had her toes curling into satin sheets. Then, he went on to validate her lewd disclosure, the one he pressed her for, letting her know in no uncertain terms that not only was he not judging her for it, but actively encouraged and was accepting of such a fantasy.

Talented lips mapped a course down her body until he was hovering over her core, skinny thighs still pressed together beneath him to hide her most sensitive bits from his attention. He could still see the crease of her puffy, hairless labia, but the slicker, pinker folds were hidden from sight.

"What… what are you doing?"

She was back to a shaky voice and trembling limbs, not that she ever really stopped. She had an idea of what was coming next, but a little verbal clarification seemed necessary.

* * *

He chuckled softly at her shaking question, looking up at her with a smirk.

"Just relax, kitten… lay back n' let me work. I promise you'll enjoy this, 'kay?"

Wiggling his fingers playfully between her knees, he pushed them open, licking his lips as her soft pink folds came into view then sliding his fingers up to tease over her clit gently.

"You're so good for me, sweetheart… I just wanna return the favor, huh? You're so good…" Dipping down to run his tongue over her gently, he moaned as the sweet taste of her hit him for the first time.

"Mmm…."

* * *

Working through deep, quivering breaths, and with much difficulty, Lydia allowed trembling thighs to pry open when he came pulling, her husband only finding a touch of compulsory resistance. She was fully bared now, nothing to hide, feeling like a much more expensive whore this go around with an entire castle the hefty price of a romp with her.

The praise he lathed her with was additionally comforting. Was she _really_ good? Had she done anything good for him lately, other than making dinner he barely picked at? He certainly thought so.

That cold, writhing tongue found the seat of her pleasure just as easily as his digits had and she damn near shrieked. Petite, pale fingers anchored into his mass of green-tinged platinum hair. If her thighs were shaking before, now they were practically convulsing, all from that one touch.

"Too much!" She begged, pulling him back by his hair without applying the pressure that would hurt an ordinary breathing person. It was a flimsy leash, and Lydia had a weak grip.

"I'm sorry! It's just‒ cold!"

That excuse was beginning to wear thin.

* * *

He looked up at her as she pulled at his hair. He'd barely felt it, but the hint that she was trying to tell him something.

_It's just‒ cold!_

He chuckled and pulled back with a gentle suck to her clit. "It'll warm up. S'okay, kitten. Relax n' let daddy take care of it, huh? You know I'll treat ya real good."

He went right back to it, eating her out as though her cunt were his favorite meal. As it was, that was quickly becoming the truth. It was strange… he hadn't tasted anything in years. But he could with Lydia… there was no denying that. He rubbed her clit firmly with his thumb, determined to get her off.

* * *

Soon, there wasn't any more room for conversation or negotiating. Like a man starved, he partook of her, one hand supporting her in between the hollow of her back and the mattress, another cupping an entire ass cheek and part of her hip.

That was all he needed. Rather than holding her down and in place, he lifted her to his mouth, drawing the wet length of his tongue between the seam of her nether lips over and over again. The inhumanly long appendage sometimes dipped in long enough to tease and play with her maidenhead, but never pierce.

Hot pressure continued to build in her belly at an exponential rate, ready to burst at any moment.

"Oh," she moaned low, fists becoming gentle in his hair, "B… Bee… _Beej!"_

* * *

He eagerly swallowed the evidence of her pleasure, moaning at the new, soft nickname that slipped out of her mouth.

When he was satisfied with his cleanup job, he sat up and hastily undid his fly, pressing almost frantic kisses to her stomach and up until he was kissing her lips soundly.

"Yer so fuckin' perfect, Lyds, really… goddamn, I got so lucky…"

He slid his hand into his pants, his eyes raking over her hungrily. He needed release _bad_ and had only made it worse for himself.

* * *

This one was different from the last. Her previous orgasm was surprised and rushed. This time, Lydia knew what was going to happen as she was carefully brought to a fit by her talented husband. Unsatisfied with just making her cum, he kept at it until her thin hip was bucking in his hold in an ineffectual effort to break loose.

Just when she thought she would go mad from overstimulation, he freed her, leaving her to gasp and recover while he kissed a trail back to her lips.

"That was…." _Was his hand in his pants?_ Her eyes went wide, throat dry. "… amazing."

Would he expect her to return the favor? Touch it? Taste it? _More?_ She suddenly felt very small and trapped on that big bed in her big castle.

"I don't want to have sex."

It slipped out before she knew what she was declaring, only leaving time for her to fret after. Now she would likely see herself _out_ of his big bed in his big castle.

* * *

He froze when the frantic words hit his arousal-muddled brain, regarding her with surprise. For once, he wasn't even thinking about fucking her, his guilty hand simply moving on autopilot. She was too skinny, sick, and scared for what he _really_ wanted to do to her.

"No… I know, baby girl... Just. Uh… adjustin' for comfort."

He cleared his throat and shut his eyes, trying to take a deep breath and will away his erection, but with one hand still on Lydia's soft tit, he found it impossible. With a sigh, he met her eyes again.

"Look. I gotta get some relief here. I can do it here with ya n' you can watch, or I can go t'my own rooms and take care of it before we start our day. Tell me what y'want me t'do here, baby…."

* * *

Immediately, her gut twisted at the thought of him going elsewhere to take care of his problem, at the same time it was still settling in relief that he didn't expect payment in full. Everything was up to her.

"Stay," she hushed, pulling him closer by his auto-stimulating hand until his lower half was pushing her into the plush mattress.

"I can… I _want_ to help. And I know there are other things we can do… I just don't know what they are or how to do them."

* * *

He sighed heavily in relief. _Thank Fuck…_ she wanted him to stay. Brushing a lock of stray hair from her face, he smiled and bent to kiss her.

"Just like this is perfect, baby girl… here…"

He maneuvered her gently, hooking one of her legs up over his hip to press his crotch tighter against her. Groaning, and with a little bit of juice to banish his boxers, his cock nestled in the seam of skin where her leg met her body. He rubbed her thigh gently, looking her over to make sure she wouldn't panic.

"This okay? I can just… I'll rub against ya…"

* * *

Her face went slack in abject surprise as he was suddenly intimately flush against her. He was pressed too close and his gut was too impressive to see past and get a look at his parts, but that didn't stop Lydia from craning her neck awkwardly to try.

It was oddly soft. She was expecting it to be rougher for some reason, but she could feel that the thick ridged rod of flesh plopped between her legs was silky smooth, almost as much as her own genitals. It made for a slick glide as he adjusted on top of her until he was happy, the rigid base of his cock set to slide comfortably between her labia and over her clit as his hips rocked.

" _Oh!"_

She didn't anticipate that this would feel good for her as well. He was so _big_. She felt tiny and precious and loved beneath him as he curled around her, grunting and groaning into her hair and neck. Taken by the moment, she directed his mouth to hers with tiny, gentle hands, encouraging him to just let go whatever he needed to in order to get his desired release.

Was this what having sex with him would be like? She hoped so.

* * *

He kissed obediently when her tiny hands took hold of his cheeks, groaning softly as he held her closer still. She seemed to be having a good time, which was all he could have hoped for. The kisses continued as he rocked slowly against her, metering his pace to keep from scaring her or losing control and doing something stupid.

One hand slid up her side to caress her breast, squeezing gently. If he closed his eyes he could combine the knowledge of just how soft and tight she was with the stimulation he was receiving now, but he was loath to take his gaze off of her. She was still flushed pink from her orgasm and the embarrassment of realizing that he didn't just joke about sex, but had a real sex drive. She was beautiful in every way.

"That's it, baby… fuck, ya feel so good…"

* * *

His thighs began to hit hers with a soft _clap_ on every down thrust as his intensity snowballed; claws digging into her tit just a little too much, teeth biting into her lip just a little too hard. Lydia loved it. The meaner he was to her, even if it wasn't necessarily on purpose, the hotter she burned.

Skinny legs squeezed him tighter around the waist, barely holding on as he rode her like a huffing, tranquilized bull. She knew he was trying to be gentle, but there was only so much his beefy form could do to reign itself in. Her nails dug into his tense, thickly muscled biceps, providing extra stability as his hips pushed harder and faster, the area between her legs secreting more and more lubrication as he went.

"Mm– mmf– ungh!" Choked feminine sounds made it past her throat at a particular pace, as though they were already fucking. Her little body tried to roll and rock with him to aid in chasing her second orgasm of the morning, but it was a pathetic effort under his heavy hips.

"Please," she begged, nuzzling up under his throat to feel his cool. _"Please."_

* * *

Her soft begging and moaning did absolutely nothing to help him control himself. He groaned and gripped her harder, cursing to himself.

"God you're so good… fuck…"

He reached between them to rub her clit firmly. He finally closed his eyes with her so curled into him, rubbing his hand up her back.

"Come on, baby… cum for me again."

He panted into her hair, quickly reaching his untimely peak. He groaned as he came, jerking against her hip.

* * *

Just as Lydia felt a spurt of something strangely cool and wet gushing between them, an explosion of euphoria whited out her vision, sending her into convulsions. Lost in a deluge of pleasure, she worked on animal instinct, latching onto him and writhing until the initial burst of sensation ebbed away to a pleasant glow. Then, she collapsed beneath him; sweaty, heaving, and messy with cum.

He held himself aloft by one arm to look her over, and Lydia was granted her first look at his manhood sans clothing. She wished she hadn't seen it. It would have been a lot easier to one day consummate their marriage if she didn't know _that thing_ was what would eventually be forcing its way inside her.

_It was enormous!_ And that enormous cock had just come all over her stomach and breasts, leaving her a sticky awkward mess as she tried to avoid letting any of it drip onto the sheets, smearing it further over her skin in her efforts.

"Uhhh… help? Please?"

* * *

He chuckled softly at her pleading and the way her eyes wandered to his cock only to widen with shock. He couldn't help but preen a bit as he vanished the evidence of their romp and flopped onto his side beside her, grinning.

"That was amazin'… Yer amazin', baby girl…"

He leaned over to kiss her, groaning softly. His hand roamed her stomach gently. _Skinny_. He pulled away with another groan. With a wave of his hand, there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal an unmanned breakfast cart, filled to the brim with pastries and meats and juices and coffee.

It moved on its own, carrying itself to the table in the corner that doubled as a workstation when his grandmother was alive and running the family business.

"Come on, kitten. Gotta replace the energy we just used."


	6. Chapter 6

This new lifestyle afforded Lydia's appetite some growing room. At the Gallaghers, breakfast was a luxury few were afford‒ aside from Miriam, who never missed her Denny's grand slam each morning. Therefore, when breakfast came carting itself into the room, smelling divine and stacked high with all the good stuff, Lydia scarcely stopped to retrieve a robe from her wardrobe to cover herself before digging in.

She grabbed a little bit of everything; some bacon and sausage, a big scoop of scrambled eggs, a large mug of coffee, and some coffee cake to go with it, as well as an orange to round all the grease, fat, and sugar off with something healthy.

"Mmm..." she groaned with a closed mouth full of food, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head as she savored the coffee cake. It was still warm, fresh out of the oven. She had never had it warm before. "So _good_... I do love cooking, but this whole invisible chef thing you've got going for you is a pretty sweet perk."

* * *

He pulled his own ragged robe out of thin air to join her, settling at the other end of the table with a cup of coffee and the Neitherworld News.

"The way I see it, ya cook when ya feel like it n' the rest o' the time you just tell me what ya want n' I make it happen."

He shook out the paper, reading through the obituaries by habit. No one interesting; A millionaire who quickly learn you really can't take it with you and someone's grandmother who voted to gain her youth again, not realizing her late husband had stayed seventy-three.

He chuckled and sipped his coffee. "So. What're we doin' today? Other than headin' to the graveyard, that is."

* * *

She blinked.

"I don't know."

Tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in thought while she peeled her orange, Lydia considered his question.

"I've never had this much free time and nothing to do before."

Her backpack, still full of tattered clothes and his first gift, the sandworm drawing pad, sat off lonely to the side, untouched since they'd come here.

"Maybe draw. Or read. I could eat this coffee cake until I went into a diabetic coma and call it a good day."

* * *

"Whatever makes ya happy, baby."

He smiled at her over his paper.

"Though I kinda like ya up and about. Comatose could be fun, I guess."

He chuckled to himself and turned the page. "We could always go explore the town down the hill... or anywhere, really."

He was anxious to be _really_ free. Back home in the manor he grew up in was far from where he expected to find himself, but until Lydia was healthier both mentally and physically, he didn't want to risk anything too big. He looked at her, innocently eating her coffee cake, and wondered why the universe let him attach himself to her. Surely, there was some asshole in a dress to keep this kind of shit from happening, right?

He couldn't complain. She was awfully sweet.

"Have some milk, kid. Ya need the calcium."

* * *

"There's a town nearby?"

She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning, only exhibiting general curiosity and interest. It would be intriguing to see the people here and how they lived, but other mortals had never been too fond of her. Maybe the ones here would be different.

Unlikely, but Lydia didn't really care one way or the other. She had a castle, and it was _haunted_. Who needed friends?

Obediently, she poured herself a fair glass of milk at his suggestion then drank down every last drop to top off her plentiful breakfast. There was something alluring about him sitting there in that awful robe, sipping coffee and reading the paper.

It was purely masculine. _Fatherly_. Part of her wanted to just curl up in his lap, fuck their plans, and spend the rest of their day there. Instead, she very politely dabbed her lips clean‒ there wasn't a crumb out of place, her manners ever-impeccable‒ thanked him for breakfast, and took off to the bathroom to prepare for a day out.

"How cold is it out there? Do you know?"

* * *

He shrugged at her question, rolling his eyes.

"Temperature don't really bother me. You got a phone, right? Look it up." He stood up and his robe melted away into his usual suit. "Now, when we go into town, I'm gonna give ya some cash. People won't be able to see me, but you will."

He leaned against the bathroom door and checked his gnarled fingernails. Part of him worried that she might meet some other handsome Irishman and run away, but he trusted her... which in itself was odd.

"You better not elope on me! These Irish guys are charmers."

* * *

She did have a phone now thanks to him, but since he seemed to know everything about everything, it seemed fair to ask. It was in the low sixties, high for Ireland in March. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, upon closer inspection of the closet she found that there were more traditional garments filling one end, the stock growing more modern toward the front.

She settled somewhere in the middle on a black dress that would cover her ankle to collar. A single petticoat and a cinched waist gave her stick-figure more of a shape, and the modest style would keep her warm and protect from sunburn‒ a very real problem for her.

"Pfft," she scoffed at his last remark, coming out of the closet freshly dressed. With her short stature and wild unbrushed hair, she very much resembled a twitchy little witch.

"Sure. They'll be lining up. Haven't you heard? I'm the most eligible bachelorette since Madonna got hitched. _Babe_."

* * *

He couldn't help but laugh at her little joke, sweeping over her and lifting her into the air. He tossed her up toward the tall ceiling and caught her again.

"Well, they can't have ya! Yer all mine, kid."

He kissed her gently and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. The rest of it obeyed his unspoken command and braided itself neatly down her back.

"Alright. Let's get outta here."

He took her hand and led her out to the front path, not quite trusting her to find her way out on her own. He led her down the neatly hedged path and on down into the valley, where just peeking over the hill was the skyline of the town.

* * *

That toss in the air sent her on a squealing, laughing fit that set the tone for the day. It was brisk and cloudy, the sun wasn't out, and the crimson cloak and hook she wore perfectly protected her from any stray breeze. She was grinning all the way from her chambers out to the hill, where her persistent smile faltered.

People. After having spent so much time alone with just her husband, she wasn't keen on being around others.

"Let's go to the cemetery first."

The village looked incredibly modest. One of those places where everyone knew everyone. What was her cover story supposed to be?

_Hi, I'm Lydia, the emaciated, emancipated reclose billionaire that lives alone in the castle on the hill._

Yep. It would probably be... _exactly_ that.

* * *

He held her hand tight in his, watching as the reticence passed her face. People seemed like a good idea to him. She had been basically alone for so long. It was not as though she made a habit of socializing with the Gallaghers.

"Sure. Cemetery first."

There was a fork in the lane nearly halfway down and he pulled her off toward the right. Just outside the modern village was an old, dilapidated stone building.

Looking at it, it was hard to tell what it was‒ or used to be. It was clear that no soul had entered the space in possible centuries. The only aspect that gave away the location was the rolling hill behind it, littered with graves.

* * *

With much the same awe and whimsy as she admired the castle, Lydia appraised the graveyard through her camera's lens, her trigger-happy index finger immediately snapping away. It was a perfectly lovely final resting place, the decrepit house of worship, a smattering of thick trees, and the convenient placement of the hill effectively blocking it off from anyone who might stray too far from town and walk past‒ unless they were a particularly macabre individual.

Like Lydia.

Many of the grave markers‒ large celtic crosses and knots, mostly‒ were made of copper and rusted green with the centuries. The epitaphs were so badly worn by weather and time it would be impossible to read them even if they weren't in Gaelic. The aged aesthetic came out beautifully on camera, particularly when she played with different filters. She would have to come here again on a bright, moonlit night to get the effect she really loved, the one most common through most of her old work.

This was another one of those things Lydia hadn't the privilege of doing in a long time, and so she lingered walking down the crooked rows, giving each one the attention it deserved.

"Is your whole family buried here...? Are you?"

* * *

Happily, he watched his wife float between the graves of his friends and family, some of his former lovers were even buried here, and he tenderly ran his hand across the top of one tombstone different from the rest. This grave was immensely small, and the headstone was carved to match. He lingered there a moment before turning his attention back to his wife.

"Hmm? Oh. Nah. I died in the states. Think I'm buried in Virginia."

He slipped behind her to kiss her neck gently and pointed across the field where a large marble mausoleum was sitting with the wooden door rotted out.

"That's where my family's buried. All of 'em, 'cept me. My parents, my grandmother... I expect my sister n' her husband are there too. His family didn't have much."

* * *

"Do you know any of them? Still? I mean... do you catch up?"

Something told her the answer was no. Judging by the emotionally removed way he spoke, he didn't seem all too fond of them, excepting his grandmother. When he erected himself behind her, she melted back into his embrace for a moment, gaze following his arm to the mausoleum across the way that had just barely withstood the test of time.

It looked one decent thunderstorm away from crumbling to dust. It was saved for last, Lydia only making her way toward it once every grave‒ there were only a couple dozen or so‒ had been photographed and lauded, respects paid. It was dark inside, a sliver of gray overcast creeping through the entrance only doing so much to light the interior.

Perfect. Immediately, Lydia turned on the flash and snapped a photo, catching the room off guard. Something scurried in the shadows. Excited, she checked the photo for clues and found a small black blur toward the bottom of the screen, two flashing orbs wide and bright in the flash.

"There's a cat in here!"

* * *

"We aren't in touch. The Neitherworld is strange... people from the past tend to move to the outskirts and make room for the newly deads, but..."

He jumped when the cat scrabbled across the flagstone that made up the floor, frowning.

"A cat? Huh..."

He wasn't a fan. The cat was staring right at them, its large green eyes sizing them up. He put a hand on Lydia's shoulder and rubbed his thumb into the back of her neck.

"Careful. It could have some disease or somethin'."

* * *

"That's what they said about you…"

No one ever said that, but she couldn't help herself, flashing a guilty smirk back at him in apology for the mean little jab. Ignoring his warning completely, Lydia put the camera down. The flash had scared it. In the picture, it looked very small, its bright reflective eyes the only reason she was able to make it out.

Those very same eyes were how she was able to see it now, dark fur blending in completely with the shadows. Slowly, she crouched to her knees to crawl closer, shrugging off Betelgeuse with a severe look when he made to close in behind her. He was much too large and intimidating for a scared little kitten.

Back to a sweet demeanor, she crawled closer to the corner of the room where the little thing was bristling, soaking wet and stinking. What was that smell...? _Gasoline_. Heart aching, she very carefully withdrew her phone from the cloak's pocket to slowly ease its flashlight onto the kitten.

Poor thing couldn't have been older than a month or two. It was all black even down to the nose and absolutely soaked in gasoline. There was a long scratch scabbed over across its side and one of its little ears had a small hole in it, as though it were bitten through by a larger fang than another kitten could possess.

"Oh, baby," tears were streaming in a solid line down both of her cheeks before she could filter them. The little thing was mewing at her pathetically, an initial hissing fit calming at the sight of the human's tears.

"Beej," she gasped his new nickname unwittingly through unbearable sadness, not hesitating to risk disease or dirtying her fancy cloak at all by swiping the now mewing kitten up and bundling it safe and warm.

"I need a towel! Please! And‒ and‒ hydrogen peroxide! Antibacterial ointment, cotton swabs, uhh‒"

Already, it was beginning to quiet in her cloak, and Lydia didn't know whether she should have been relieved or terrified.

* * *

Damn.

The little thing was in rough shape. What kind of monster doused a kitten in gasoline? Whoever it was would have to face him. They had made Lydia cry.

That wouldn't stand.

He summoned the requested things, kneeling beside her as he soaked the cloth with water.

"Poor little guy... he'll be okay, though. We'll clean him up an'... an' do somethin'..." He reached out to rub his thumb along her cheek. "Don't cry, babes... please. Here."

He waved a hand and part of the door caved in as his juice missed the mark, making the tiny creature wail and wiggle further into Lydia's cloak. He cursed and held out his hands.

"Sorry! Hey... come here, little guy. Lemme get that gas off ya... gotta have a hand on ya, bud."

* * *

"He's just‒ so _little‒_ "

Sitting fully on her butt, stationed to stay in the mausoleum with her husband's dead ancestors for as long as it took, Lydia sniffled and worked on stemming sympathetic tears in order to better care for the kitten. When Betelgeuse ran his hand over wet, pungent fur, it cleansed and purified as though the furball had been through a thorough bath and airdried in the matter of a split second.

The little one didn't know how to handle this abrupt change. He meowed offkey loudly once, cut himself off abruptly, and then looked at them both with the most perplexed expression a cat could muster.

"You'll be okay," Lydia promised the kitten and herself, coming to terms with his alternate ultimate fate had he not gotten away somehow. It was horrific. People were evil.

"You're _strong_. You scratched somebody good, didn't you? You're a _good_ boy."

* * *

Betel watched as she kissed and comforted the little beast. He was so small. Who would leave a defenseless, scared little thing like that alone? His gaze lingered to his wife. Too small, too underfed, and too lonely for so many years. His long-dead heart contracted in his chest with a sighed.

"Alright. Let's get him home. I know ya wanna keep him."

He scooped them both into his arms and in a blink, they were returned to Lydia's rooms. He set her on the bed and scratched the kitten behind the ears.

"Whatcha reckon this thing eats? He's a carnivore, right?"

"Some water and tuna will do him just fine, for now, I think."

* * *

Again, the kitten was exhibiting supreme bewilderment at the show of magic. Though he had not been in this world long, he knew the laws of it well enough to know that this was something _other_. The requested nutrition appeared in small silver dishes on the highest step to the bed, and to Lydia's great relief, the baby cat showed immediate interest.

"That's right," she praised, petting lightly as he dug into the tuna with avid interest. It was fresh. Not the canned kind, but the kind that came on sushi. Both Lydia and the kitten were impressed. "Eat up, baby. You need a name…"

She considered him, chowing down on his tuna, happy as could be, looking as though he'd used up all nine of his lives in a single day and was ready to do it again.

"You're a little rebel, aren't you, Percy? You just skit and skat and charm your way out of trouble..."

* * *

Betelgeuse sat beside her, hesitantly reaching out to pet the little beast. Percy, as he'd recently been dubbed, hissed and retreated to the other side of his bowl.

"Hey! I helped save yer life, ya brat. You'll warm up to me. I'm a charmer too."

He ran a hand over his hair, temporarily smoothing it back only for it to spring back to its usual chaotic frizz.

"What'd I tell ya about pickin' up boys out there, Lyds?"

He wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her a playful grin to make sure she knew he was just teasing her.

"Alright, what else does this guy need? Place to shit, right? Yer gonna be in charge of teachin' 'im. I don't do dirty nappies."

* * *

"He's just so _handsome_ , Beej, I couldn't help it..."

More than handsome, he was helpless, and Lydia was loathe to leave an unlucky, helpless little baby all alone to fend for himself.

"He's going to need a bed and some toys... a scratching post, food, and catnip... several catboxes would probably be best since this place is so big. Shots and a checkup with a vet. Don't you worry about taking care of him, I take full responsibility. Poor thing..."

Once he finished as much tuna as he could eat, he returned right back to Lydia to be pet and loved on, quickly falling into a purring nap on her lap. She almost cried again, easily brought to weak, mushy emotions by the bundle of love purring against her belly. It appeared they would have to be going into town, then.

"We should just go to a pet store. They might have things I haven't thought of. Do you think there's one in the village?"

* * *

He watched her nearly weep over the little kitten and felt a burning rage pool in his stomach anew. His wife was upset. Almost crying!

The people responsible needed to pay.

"Sure thing, but let's bring him along. I don't want him to get lost in here."

He shook his arms and a smart driving jacket in a deep maroon materialized on his torso, accompanied by matching driving gloves.

He took her hand and squeezed gently as he led the two pitiful kittens outside. A sharp whistle between his teeth had a vehicle appeared from nowhere, letting out nearly speech like beeps and whirs.

"This here's Doomie."

He patted the car on the hood and chuckled. "Stealth mode, bud. There's breathers around."

The bright yellow hotrod obediently beeped as his appearance changed. Soon, a sleek old-fashioned cruiser sat in his place, ordinary and inanimate. Betel got Lydia's door.

"Madame."

* * *

Lydia had no intention of letting little Percy out of her sight any time in the near future and was, therefore, more than agreeable to Betelgeuse's suggestion he come with them. He was small enough to fit in the outer pocket of her cloak, occasionally poking his little nose out like a baby kangaroo in its mother's pouch. For the most part, however, he seemed partial to staying snug in his hidey-hole.

"Sir," Lydia returned her husband's gallantry with a polite curtsey and smile before settling in the passenger seat. It felt more natural appropriating that moniker to him rather than old drunk Jonathan Gallagher.

"Isn't this such a nice car, Percy?" Lydia encouraged him out of her pocket to explore, barely able to get enough of him. "Have you ever been in a car before?"

Like he was a human child and not an animal, Lydia carried on conversation with him, holding him up to the window as they drove on so he could see the sights and she could explain to him what things were like a mother would to their babe.

* * *

Betel smiled as she showed the little kitten everything out the window. He realized as they entered the town that it wasn't the tiny village he remembered. There was a large container-style pet store, as it turned out, one of the few major outlets in the town. It looked likely that the store catered to farmers and their flocks more than household pets, but he pulled in any way.

"Hey! Look at that. Save ya the trip all the way to the city."

He reached over and scratched the kitten behind his ears, which Percy quickly shook off as though offended.

* * *

There was a section dedicated entirely to cats toward the back. Lydia quickly filled up the cart with kitten food, toys, a collar, anything and everything she thought Percy could possibly want. The store was sparse, with no clerk behind the register. In fact, Lydia had yet to see a single human being since they rolled up. How low was the population here anyway? Percy's little fuzzy head was poking out of her cloak, trying more ardently to escape now, but not getting anywhere with Lydia fussing over him and trying to manage pushing the cart at the same time.

Betelgeuse would have, she knew, but she couldn't let him. He had to stay invisible.

"Hello?" She called at the counter, money out, ready to pay. Where was everybody?

* * *

The empty store was spooky. He didn't know where the hell the clerk was, but clearly, it wasn't doing his fucking job. They waited a while, Betel scratching at Percy's ears while they did so, but when no one appeared he took matters into his own hands.

"Wait here."

He vanished, silently searching the perimeter of the shop. There he was. The clerk was a slimy-looking teenager, a baggy grey beanie hanging limply from his head as though it too had been spending its shift getting stoned.

Snatching the burning joint from the kid's lips, he hissed in his ear. "You got a customer, numbnuts."

* * *

A frazzled, paranoid looking boy a little older than her and much more casually dressed came jogging into the store moments after Betelgeuse disappeared, throwing jerky looks over his shoulder all the way to the counter.

"How can I uh‒"

Once he finally paid a lick of attention to Lydia, he was just as taken aback by her appearance as he was by the invisible voice. She was tiny and dark, dressed like something from another century and manning a cart three times as large as her. These things alone were odd, but the kitten peeking out of her cloak pocket was even stranger.

"How'd ya get that?!" He blurted out rudely, pointing right at the lump in her cloak where Percy was bundled shyly. Or was it in fear? A fire blazed at the back of Lydia's skull as she realized the clerk _knew_ him. "Liam bought that one, he did! And Liam's cats‒"

The boy swallowed and cut off, not putting words to it.

_Sick_. She was going to be sick. These cruel boys apparently had some sort of arrangement. It was so disgusting, it took her several long moments to piece the scene together, barely able to stomach the casual evil she was witnessing.

"He's just a _baby…_ "

Protectively, she pulled her cloak tighter, heart pounding faster as she took second stock of the cart full of goods. How could she buy from this store now? Where was Betelgeuse? What was she supposed to do? Who could she report this to? Wasn't there any justice in the world?

"How could you…?"

* * *

Rage was swiftly building inside of him. Not only was this guy upsetting his wife, but it sounded like there was a standing arrangement here to sell kittens into a nightmare. Betel stepped in close against her back and growled softly.

"Liam, huh? Guess I'm gonna have to pay him a visit. Let's take care of Collin here first."

He kissed at her face to distract her and somewhere at the back of the store, the sound of tearing metal screeched loudly. Moments later a massive dog came lumbering upfront, head dropped and his hackles raised.

Betel smirked. The sound echoed once again, this time accompanied by shattering glass. It was a python nearly as large as Lydia herself. The poor thing was missing an eye and several teeth. He'd seen him when he was looking for the clerk.

Still kissing his wife's cheek, he smirked. "Abused animals always lash out at their abuser. Grab yer stuff and let's get outta here."

* * *

More and more worse for wear animals continued to break free from their cages, stalking toward the front of the store menacingly. None of them seemed particularly interested in Lydia, but she wasn't about to push her luck and attempt loving on any of them when they so clearly had a goal in mind.

Without paying, she obeyed her invisible husband's urgings and rolled her cart out the door, ignoring the faint screaming coming from the shop as she loaded up Doomie with Percy's things. Lydia was no sadist... _but some people had it coming_. Nonetheless, it was a somber affair loading up the car, her mood only brightened by the tiny mewl of a stubborn kitten crawling up out of her pocket to her shoulder to nuzzle and leave sandpaper kisses.

"I hate people," she sighed eventually to break the silence, glaring at the sparsely populated street as though the whole town was responsible for letting this happen.

"We should just go back to the castle. The garden. I don't need anything else from this place."

* * *

Nodding slowly at her request to go home, he patted her back and nuzzled her gently.

"Go ahead. Doomie knows the way. I got some business to finish here." He tucked her into the passenger seat and gave Doomie his instructions to take her home. Smiling, he waved her off before returning to the store where the animals had reduced Collin to a bloody heap.

"That's enough."

The creatures seemed to understand that they were in the presence of something more. They stepped back and Betel stepped in, looming over the boy with a nastily happy expression.

"I think you'd better tell me where yer buddy Liam is. N' if it wasn't clear, this is what happens when people fuck with my wife." He knew the boy couldn't see him, but it was just as threatening.

"Well? Speak up, lad."

* * *

Collin was mutilated beyond surgical repair. In the short span the animals had time to do their work on him, they had gone to town, letting loose the worst that their individual savage nature's had to offer. It was a miracle the boy could speak at all.

"That‒ that _cunt_ isn't m'friend‒" Theirs was an arrangement that was purely lucrative in nature‒ on Collin's end, anyway. "Sick fuck knows me mum don't want me givin' him animals no more, so he pays extra. I don't like it! I didn't touch that lass!"

Blood obscured his vision, but he could hear cats and snakes hissing as they circled him, dogs growling, squawking birds perched above on the counter. What would his poor mother think to find him like this? To know what he let happen?

"Please don't," he begged the specter, weeping, "please don't kill me... Please don't tell me mum..."

* * *

He sneered at the pile of pathetic comprised of human boy and shook his head. With a snap of his fingers, the animals were all at heel and calm. He stepped over the boy and toward the counter where he had left his phone.

"Let's see here... Liam O. or Liam M.? Guess I gotta check the... ah. Liam M. it is."

He dropped the phone on Collin's chest and chuckled cruelly. "Police are on their way. Have fun explaining the arrest to your precious mother."

From there, it seemed Liam was easy to find. He was in an alley near the path that led to the graveyard, which made sense. Percy had run a long way for as injured as he was.

Betel watched for a moment as Liam shook a pup, holding it by the scruff of its neck. With a displeased twitch of his mouth, the massive hound from the pet store materialized beside him, growling and snarling at the attacker.

"Hello, Liam. I'm gonna suggest ya put that puppy down."

* * *

Startled, the boy dropped his current victim without any gentility or care. It made a horrible, high-pitched sound when it hit the concrete, then limped away whimpering behind a nearby dumpster.

Liam was not a particularly popular boy, or attractive, or charming. He wasn't funny or smart or talented. Definitely wasn't physically impressive in any capacity. Both of his parents were cruel and dumb, and he wasn't much better off. Hurting little animals was funny. Something about the way they screeched and begged with their eyes but couldn't ever get away tickled something inside of him.

It was just a hobby. What was the big deal?

That glorified rat got lucky this morning. Caught him off guard while he was trying to get it in the charred iron cage he used for burning. Luckily, this stupid mutt was sniffing around dumpsters and he wouldn't have to shell out any extra cash for his next fix.

"Th'fuck d'you want?" He snarled nastily at the grimy bum interrupting his good time. Didn't look like a cop or anyone he knew, though the large growling dog at his side did nothing to ease his sudden unrest.

* * *

"Oh, what do I want? Nothin."

He lit a cigarette and stared at the kid. This world was fucked up. Clearly, no one cared about the scrap of a kid in front of him and so he'd turned to picking on the only things weaker than him.

Too bad he'd picked the wrong time and place. There was no way he was gonna let the source of his wife's sadness just get a pass.

"I don't want nothin'. Belzebub here on the other hand... well I reckon he wants ya to stop pickin' on lil' critters."

The dog snarled and took a step toward the boy.

"Here's what's gonna happen. Yer gonna hand me the pup that's hidin' from ya, n' stop fuckin around with kittens and puppies and whatever else yer fucked up hobby has ya torturin'."

He took another deep drag off his cigarette.

"Either that or Bub here eats yer balls while they're still attached. Your choice."

* * *

It only took approximately two seconds of assessing the situation before Liam was gone, flying down the alley on skinny legs before he could give any kind of promise that he would stop his shenanigans at all. He wouldn't. If the threat of a beating was enough to stop him, his father would have been able to cut this shit out a long time ago.

The question remained; how long until Collin moved on to people?


	7. Chapter 7

Back at the castle, Lydia was out in the orchard next to the greenhouse with Percy, introducing him to a patch of catnip she'd discovered growing wild beneath an apple tree. Irrationally, she worried that Betelgeuse would disappear for days again, but held on faith. He did tell her that he would let her know exactly how long he would be gone before taking off like that again, right?

Besides, she had everything she needed to live comfortably without his assistance. This wouldn't be a terrible life without him. A bit lonely, maybe. Still, the thought left a sour pang in her belly.

"I think you might just be the second most handsome boy in the world," Lydia praised the doped up kitten as he bumbled after a butterfly, stoned on catnip and clumsy. "Want to know who the first is?"

Betel just caught the conversation as he came wandering up the path, the little puppy tucked into the crook of his arm. The poor little girl was shaking like a leaf, whining softly when she saw the stranger.

"I'd like to know who the first is. Wouldn't you, Tia?"

* * *

He bounced the puppy gently and she wiggled in his hold until she could lick his face, making him wrinkle his nose.

"Yeah, yeah. Here. Let's meet yer brother."

He sat across from his wife with a smile, the tiny spaniel in his hold leaning over to sniff curiously at the kitten.

"Don't worry, babes. I took care of Liam."

* * *

Lydia sat up from where she was laying on her belly on the ground at his reappearance, puzzled by the strange sounds coming from his direction. Was that a...?

"Puppy!"

He sat down to join her, and the curious little bundle of chocolate fur hooked over his arm immediately wanted down to play and explore. Percy was just as equally excited and intrigued by the other baby animal, padding up close on caution black paws to touch noses with the foreign beast.

Tia licked. Percy jumped. They stared at each other in bewilderment for a tense beat, then scrambled off Betelgeuse's lap to tackle each other fiercely, roughhousing playfully as though they came from the same litter. Once his lap was free, Lydia took advantage of the opening, crawling over to wrap her arms around his neck and press rapid kisses to his cheek, heart full with affection.

"They're so cute! I love them so much! _Look!_ They already know they're family..."

* * *

He happily accepted her into his lap, cradling her close to his chest as the two little beasts wrestled and growled, happily scampering across the garden only to return to where their saviors sat.

"I'm glad ya like her. I'm callin' her Hestia. Tia for short. Home ain't home without a dog." He smiled and kissed her cheek. "Liam had er. Didn't take time t'check her out really... but she seems fine."

He nuzzled into his wife. _Family_. Maybe that's what they were... or were becoming. A small, isolated family. Sighing dreamily, he closed his eyes, words at the tip of his tongue that he wasn't sure he could say to her.

* * *

Lydia didn't like thinking about the type of person it would take to want to burn a kitten alive, and so didn't respond to Betelgeuse when he told her where the puppy came from‒ only frowning slightly and watching the pup closer to make sure it wasn't exhibiting any symptoms of injury.

She appeared perfectly healthy, tongue lolling and tail wagging as she prepared to pounce her feline brother.

"Hestia..." she tested, trying it out on her tongue. "It's pretty. I like it."

Hestia and Percival were fancy names for a couple of furballs, but it didn't look like there was anyone around to judge.

"Do you want to see the pictures I took? You're in some of them."

* * *

He raised an eyebrow at the question. "What'd ya mean I'm in some of em? I'm a ghost, babes."

He rubbed slow circles onto her stomach with his thumb, pressing his lips to her hair. Not quite a kiss, just a closeness. This kind of intimacy was new and different to him.

Only a few minutes after they'd started, the little creatures tired themselves out. Percy climbed happily onto Lydia's chest, curling up with his tiny head under her chin, while Hestia whined until room was made for her between Lydia's legs, curled up on Betel's thigh.

He idly scratched her ears, smiling at their little pile of family.

* * *

"So?" Hadn't he been paying any attention? Lydia had been photographing ghosts since she picked up her first camera. "Look! It's you."

Careful not to agitate the sleepy babies, she moved the camera's screen until it was within his line of sight and she could begin scrolling through photos. There were some from the hotel, and some of the castle, but the most recent bundle were all snapped at the chapel and cemetery.

Just like she said he would be, Betelgeuse's spirit stuff was visible as a shroud of black smoke through the lens. None of his defining traits were discernible. If she didn't know it was him, she wouldn't know it was him.

"You have a really bad memory," she commented casually remembering that they already had pretty much this exact conversation after he gave her the camera, genuinely unaware of how insulting what she was saying really was. "Is it because you're so old?"

* * *

"Well, I didn't know ya meant I was in 'em like _that!"_ He looked through the photos with her and hummed softly. "You should sell these. They're real good. Tell people I'm photoshopped in or somethin'."

He slid his hands slowly up her thighs toward her sides, smirking to himself.

"Oh... and one more thing..."

He dug his fingers in, mercilessly tickling. This caused an uproar, the kitten yowling as he was dislodged from his new mother's breast, Tia growling as her brother complained.

"Don't call me old!"

* * *

"No!"

She was under attack! It wasn't fair!

"Mercy!"

Perhaps with ulterior motives guiding his actions, he never let her wriggle out of his lap all through the assault. Lydia screeched and laughed and writhed, never getting free no matter how much she fought his admittedly light grip.

He was holding back. How embarrassing. Somehow, she ended up draped over his lap with her tummy over his thigh, hind end presented appropriately. The lovely crimson cloak she wore before was splayed as a picnic blanket across the ground, providing a soft covering for the puppy, kitten, ghost, and girl to play.

"I'm sorry!" She begged, on the verge of losing her faculties. "I didn't mean it! Please no more! No! Uncle! _Daddy!_ Stop!"

* * *

Oh, that was nice.

He chuckled and stopped his tickling attack. He ran his hand through her hair and pulled gently, bending her back until he could kiss at her neck, his other hand resting in the small of her back.

"What was that, my love? I don't think I quite heard you…"

He grinned and nipped at the shell of her ear, humming softly. He was half hard in his pants, but with all the shyness she exuded in the past, he didn't want to push anything too far.

He let his eyes rake down over her body, her lovely rump a soft bunching in her long dark skirt. He let his hand slip down to caress her there, squeezing gently.

* * *

The tickling ceased. Her bladder stopped panging unbearably for release. A cold fist entangled itself at the base of her braid, pulling her into an arch by that grip until equally cold lips could ply at the sensitive flesh along her throat. Gasping breaths stuttered, heart thrumming ever faster as his free palm molded over her ass.

Percy and Tia had grown bored of watching them and were frolicking through the nearby patch of catnip. Lydia made no moves to fight or withdraw from the submissive position she suddenly found herself in, trusting completely that he bore her no ill intent. After all, this was a man that saved puppies and kittens.

"Daddy," she repeated obediently, whimpering, bashful despite her imperfect faith in him. The filthy nickname had initially only come out as a last-ditch attempt to make him stop torturing her. It only half worked.

* * *

He groaned loudly when she sweetly, obediently repeated what she had said. He kissed her cheek firmly, bending her back to do so, but not far enough to hurt.

"You're a good girl, baby... do you wanna help daddy out here? Ya feel what ya do to me, don't ya?"

With her bent over his lap like she was, his hard cock pressed against her stomach through the lacing of her dress, straining his pants in a way that was getting uncomfortable.

"Sweet thing... I know you'll be good for me. You always are... c'mere."

He adjusted her slightly, releasing the hand in her hair to pull her into his lap properly, hiking her skirts up to the thigh.

* * *

Once more, Lydia was embarrassed by how quickly she found herself here, how easily she gave herself to him. Just seconds before everything had been so innocent. Now he had her wrapped around him like a blanket, coarse palms touching wherever they wanted to under her dress. As usual, the timid girl needed a moment to compose herself before they could proceed with anything further.

Focusing on the soothing scratch of his claws lightly dragging all along her thighs, she took several deep breaths into his shirt, face hidden beneath his jacket.

"I'll be good," she promised with a small voice, hardly aware of what he had in mind but confident that she would do her best for him.

"I didn't mean to‒ to‒" She swallowed, turning an even deeper shade of crimson. "Make it _hard_. You were tickling me."

* * *

He chuckled softly and kissed her flushed cheek, sliding his hands back to grip her hips. She was just so damn cute.

"I'll tell ya a secret, kitten. Ya always make it hard. Part o' my bein' hopelessly n' completely into ya." He chuckled softly and rubbed her soft skin under his thumbs. "You're so sweet, n' beautiful n' kind... how am I s'posed to not get turned on when yer wigglin' in my lap?"

He sighed and nuzzled his nose against hers gently. This was a struggle. Any other girl would have been on her back and buried deep by now. He reminded himself to be gentle and unthreatening.

"How ya wanna do this? Like before?"

* * *

Lydia was still satisfied from their morning romp where he'd gotten her off twice, explosively; first with his mouth, and then with his cock in a pantomime of real sex. For now, she was much more interested in making sure that he was seen too. After all, it was her careless wriggling and bouncing that had gotten them into this position.

"I don't... I don't need anything..."

She never did. It was always him kissing and squeezing and taking what he wanted from her with utmost care and patience. How patient was he, really? How long until he got fed up with their gentle, tentative play? Determined to show progress, she pressed a long, warm kiss to his jaw, then another lower on his neck, followed by a shy lick and nip.

"You're the one who... _you_ need... uhm..."

He made it sound so easy when he rasped out his filthy little encouragements, whereas Lydia's lips and tongue refused to cooperate with her brain and produce a concrete sentence. Eventually, she just spit it out.

"What do you want _me_ to do?"

* * *

He thought about it for a moment. There were many, many things he wanted to do with her. That being said, there was a lot that he didn't think she could do yet. She was still getting healthy. He kissed her forehead, tipping his head back to let her continue the small kisses she was pressing to his neck.

"Mmm... why don't we keep up that mouth busy, huh? I'll teach ya. Okay?"

He ran his hand down her back, patiently waiting for her answer. He knew that he could convince her even if she didn't really want to. But still, he liked to give her a sense of choice.

* * *

He didn't need to use any dirty words or lewd phrases to get his idea across. _Blowjob. Fellatio. Oral sex. Cock sucking_. She was excited and nervous and terrified all at once, fiddling gently with his tie to comfort herself while pressing those shy, almost nonexistent kisses to his meaty neck.

What if she _sucked?_ And not in a good way. As talented as he was at servicing her with his mouth, Lydia cringed at the very real possibility that she would end up humiliating herself.

"I can," she gulped, "try."

As a gesture of good faith, one of her bony little hands trailed between them, just barely ghosting over where his erection burgeoned beneath his zipper.

"It's not that I don't want to," she gushed out quietly in explanation for her tangible nerves, worried he might see it as a rejection. "I just don't want to disappoint you..."

* * *

He tutted softly and pulled her back to look at him. "Sweetheart... you won't disappoint. You never have. Besides, ya can't judge by the first attempt."

He pulled her into a gentle kiss.

"Besides, I don't think you _could_ be bad at this. Look at that pretty mouth..."

He grinned and pulled at her lower lip gently with his thumb. She really was a beauty... even by the standards of his time, here in Ireland, she was like a wet dream come true. He kissed her once more, just to put her at ease. "Why don't ya take it out and just explore for a bit, huh? I'll tell ya what feels the best."

He grinned, excited to get her on her knees.

* * *

With large, curious eyes and a rosy bottom lip caught trapped between her teeth, she very carefully ambled back and off of his lap until she was kneeling before him. Trying and failing to keep her hands from shaking, they drifted toward his crotch. Step by bumbling step, she unhooked her belt, unlatched the button of his slacks, and ever so attentively pulled the zipper down, wary of the metal teeth catching on sensitive flesh.

Without needing to be fished out, an impressive, violet-shaded rod of meat sprung forth, eager for attention. Lydia's eyes went impossibly larger. She knew he was a big guy, but this was her first time seeing his tool head-on rather than just feeling it out of sight.

"Wow," she whispered in a sort of awe, then immediately withdrew further into herself. That was a dumb thing to say. Gaze flickering rapidly between her husband and his exposed phallus, she dared to draw the soft backside of her hand slowly along his length just for the sensation, the way one might caress a passing stretch of eye-catching fabric.

Touches like that wouldn't do anything for him, though. She knew enough to know that. Bolder now, she wrapped her fingers around the base‒ or attempted to. They were too short. She had to introduce both hands to encircle him completely.

"Like‒ like this?"

* * *

He watched her shuffle down and pull him free, licking his lips as he watched her gently explore his length. The brush of her hand over him made his cock twitch excitedly. Her tiny hands could barely fit around him, having to work together to work him over. He groaned and tipped his head back against the tree behind them, sighing softly.

"Oh, yeah... just like that, baby girl... why don't ya give it a kiss. Bet that'd feel real nice."

He ran his hand through her hair, pulling gently in the way he discovered she liked, though he doubted she would admit it.

"Such a good girl..."

* * *

Extremely susceptible to suggestion at the moment, particularly _his_ suggestions, there was little to no fight to be found as his gruff fingers found purchase in her hair, using those reigns to pull her closer to his groin. A kiss was easy enough, right?

Like a child with their first crush, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and brushed the purest and most angelic of kisses across the fat, mushroom tip of his length, gaze immediately darting up to check his reaction. He was still staring down at her, the intensity in his expression unwavering, though the softness he kept when dealing with her had not disappeared.

That pathetic little kiss wasn't enough and she knew it, so she did it again on the underside of the head this time. Then again in a different spot, letting her tongue flick out and taste a thick, dark vein. The fist in her hair tightened, and her lashes fluttered at the pleasant pull at the base of her skull.

"Like that? You like this?"

* * *

"It's good, kitten... real good..."

He watched her press the tiny, shy kisses over him for a while longer before stopping her by tightening the fist in her hair.

"Hey, ya ever eat one o' those rocket pops? Tha big ol' popsicles ya buy from the truck? Treat it like that."

A wiggle of his fingers aided this endeavor by changing the taste of the clear precum now dribbling from the tip of his cock. Gone was the musky, salty drip, replaced with something far sweeter and more pleasant.

"Come on, baby... drop that jaw for daddy and lemme in..."

* * *

Unlike the others, this order wasn't obeyed all at once. Taking her precious time, Lydia introduced herself and his cock to the idea of it being trapped behind her lips. Those little kisses became wider and wetter as her tongue came into play and she took longer to separate then come back for more.

Like a popsicle? Lydia liked popsicles. Finally, slick pink lips traipsed high enough to catch a taste of his enchanted cum, and she decided right then that he tasted much better than popsicles. Unnaturally so. She would have asked why, but that would have displeased him judging by how tight his fist was in her hair.

That flavor alone seduced her tight, distrustful jaw into relaxing, allowing him the in he needed. It was a tight fit. Even as her poor jaw strained to fit him, she worried that her molars might scrape and cause discomfort.

"Mm!" She whined, momentarily alarmed, though made no moves against his firm grip. She could trust him a little more. Try harder.

* * *

He kept up his tight grip on her hair, pushing her head down as soon as the head of his cock slipped past those tight, soft lips.

"That's it... fuck. That's perfect, baby girl..."

For her first time, he didn't want to push her too far, but her warm, wet mouth was almost too much for his delicate restraint. He wasn't a patient man on the best of days. Still, he was loath to scare her off when she was doing so well with her new task. So he gently guided her head just until he felt her start to gag before pulling her back and starting over.

"Breathe through yer nose, Lyds...that's it... feels so good, kitten..."

* * *

Distantly, she was aware of Percy and Tia scampering over her legs in a ploy for attention before coming to terms with that Mommy was busy and couldn't play. They were easily distracted elsewhere.

This was harder than it looked, and from what she had seen in porn it already looked pretty hard. She was barely breaching the midpoint and was already gagging on him, forcing down the reflex that wanted her to shake off his iron grip and gasp for air.

The praise helped, but it didn't stem the few tears that budded and crept down her cheeks. They weren't from sadness, but a visceral response to an unnatural stimulus. Still, she listened and breathed through her nose, trying desperately to avoid tensing up. It was worse when she tensed up. Better to go lax and let him guide her through it.

* * *

He wasn't going to last long, and that was probably wise. She seemed uncomfortable. He guided her just that little bit deeper, purposefully making her gag on his cock. It did the trick. He pulled her back as he moaned and rocked his hips, his release splattering onto her neck and chest. He couldn't help but thinking that it was a good look on her.

He collapsed back against the tree and groaned, pulling her up into his arms.

"Fuck yeah... that was perfect, baby. You did perfect..."

He caressed her cheek, gently rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin and smiled at her fondly. "Thanks, darlin'. You're really somethin' wonderful."

* * *

She was still gasping for breath and trying to find her bearings when he hauled her back up to a more familiar position. The dress was ruined. She would have to change. Just when she began to think bad words like _gross_ and _cheap_ , he came to the rescue, muttering praise that made her want to strip for a different reason.

There was a surprising amount of warmth in his gaze for someone so cold. She wanted to kiss him, but that would be gross, right? Then again, he had no problems kissing her after mouthing her holiest of unholies to kingdom come.

That settled it. Her lips were sweet and slick on his with the barest remnants of his own release, and it just felt right. Kissing was a simple task compared to what had just passed between them in the orchard.

"It's getting cold," the complaint was hushed against his lips. She knew he couldn't tell the difference one way or the other as the already bleak sky began to weaken. Percy and Tia were asleep huddled together at the edge of Lydia's discarded cloak, but they too shivered. She scooped them up as soon as she saw, the mess on her dress already having been magicked away.

"Take me to bed? I'm not sleepy yet, I just want to bathe and change and let the babies nap."

* * *

Her request was immediately and happily complied with, the whole little family transported back to Lydia's chambers in the palace. He kissed her cheek gently and pet her hair before slipping out of the bed to conjure the things Tia would need. She got a plush bed to lay beside the cat tree for Percy, though he doubted either perch would get much use. He had already failed to endorse a rule keeping the pets off the bed.

Humming as he worked, he glanced back at his wife with a smile. "Why don't you go on n' get in the tub, baby. I'll be through to help wash yer hair."

He scooped up Percy and set him at the very top of the cat tree, the cat immediately chewing on the corner of his perch, kicking at it as though he could kill it. Tia was already happily asleep at the foot of the bed.

* * *

Candelabras lit welcomingly upon her entrance, a powerful stream of hot water beginning to gush into a circular stone bathing pit tucked into a nook off in an enclosed corner. A large window carved into the thick wall sat just past the mini pool, but Lydia was too short to see what was on the other side from her vantage.

She wasted no time in shedding the chaste gown and slipping into the tub. The stones on the inside were smoother than the ones on the out. An easy to reach shelf stocked with scrubs, creams, and oils hung above a rack of towels and Lydia added a generous bit of rose oil to the water.

The window she coveted gazed down upon the glass roof of the greenhouse, as well as the orchard and part of the courtyard. As it was so deeply embedded in the stone wall, Lydia had to lean far over the edge to see it all, placing her belly flat on the window's ledge and her rear the first thing anyone would see if they so happened to walk in.

* * *

And happen in, he did. He had shed his jacket and shirt before every coming through the doorway, and being greeted by his wife's soft, plump rear made him smirk softly.

"What a view... n' the window's nice too. C'mon, darlin'. Into the tub with ya."

He grinned and pulled up a small wooden stool to the edge of the tub. A tray appeared, balanced just where she could reach with wine and fruit. Salivating practically, he licked his lips as he looked her over. He could happily spend days watching Lydia bathe, and if that made him some kind of pervert, so be it.

The sun was starting to set, painting his girl in pink and orange light, making her seem more angelic than she always did. He couldn't help but smile, a strange warmth spreading through his chest.

* * *

On the tray, there was a bowl of dark, sweet cherries, a bottle of wine that tasted just like them, and a jewel-encrusted goblet. Just one. He seemed happy enough with his bottleneck beer. Dying sunrays joined firelight in bouncing off pearlescent flesh. It was a strange, haunting effect only made possible by how pale and wet she was, as well as the conventional lighting.

In the future, Lydia would not question it when he insisted upon her taking her baths almost primarily at twilight. By the time she had eaten her fill of cherries, to the point her lips were stained dark red, and drank wine until her cheeks were flushed and head was fuzzy, she was ready to cash in on his offer.

"Help with my hair?" She murmured lazily, good and tipsy, head lolling back against the edge of the tub near where he was sitting. "You said you would… please?"

* * *

He was more than content to watch her enjoy herself, so much so that by the time she asked him to help, his cock was once again at full attention.

He smiled at her request, setting his beer aside to gently dip her back into the water and pull her back up, almost like a baptism.

"Always, my love. Here."

He took one of the bottles off the low shelf and poured the shampoo it contained into his hands, rubbing it through her long dark locks quite happily.

He waited, curious to see if she would call him out on his erection.

* * *

He was hard. _Again_.

It took her a moment to notice, but once she did, she couldn't not see it. Those claws of his just felt so good scratching against her scalp, massaging, manipulating her easily. Within seconds, she was a pile of mush in his hands.

Then she saw it; an unmistakable bulge demanding attention beneath his striped trousers. Seriously? So soon? He _did_ say she always did this to him. Sympathetic to his plight, with a sense of guilt even, she reached up as he dipped her down again to rinse creamy suds from her hair and let her tired fingers mold around his cock.

"How can I make it stop?"

As though she pitied him, she asked him this, holding his gaze like there was nothing to be ashamed of, his cock was an aching thing, and she simply meant to heal it.

* * *

"You can't stop it, darling... it's gonna happen. You may as well get used to it."

He gently rinsed her hair, letting her caress him through his pants. Smiling once he was done, admiring her glossy cleaned hair, he took her hand away from his groin and brought it to his lips.

"Don't you worry about it tonight. I can see those pretty eyes closing." He bent to kiss her lips firmly. "Come on, you."

He pulled her up and wrapped her in a soft, oversized towel. It was easy to fall into step like this, carrying her in his arms as he headed back to her bed chambers.

"I'm gonna deal with this problem on my own. Though of course, if you wanna help... you could."

* * *

"I want to help."

Pliant as she was from the bath, Lydia was still eager to see what else he could teach her. She only felt safe and loved with him. Anything they did would make them both feel good. The area between her legs was already panging with want, her damp form cuddling him close despite that he could never warm her.

He thought she was _beautiful_ , was so attracted to her that arousal plagued him constantly. Needless to say, Lydia was flattered. He tried to deposit her alone in the bed, but she didn't let him go. Instead, she wrapped thin arms around his thick neck to force him close and administer a somewhat messy, inexperienced, intoxicated kiss.

The towel dropped. Skinny legs wrapped around his waist. _She was trying to seduce him._

* * *

It took everything in him not to just... take her when she offered herself up like that. She was so soft and warm, so mortal beneath him. But he couldn't... not yet. She was still too thin, too weak.

So he settled for kissing her back, leaning into her hungrily as she did her best to seduce him. It was almost cute in the way she seemed so eager to please despite her drowsy, tipsy state. He chuckled softly and let his magic remove the barriers between them. In a blink of an eye, he was pressed against her fully, skin to skin.

"You're so beautiful, darlin'... how did I get so lucky, hmm? Sure as hell don't deserve it..."

* * *

Abruptly, they were pressed naked together atop her bed, the sudden exposure of all that cold, ghostly flesh making her spine shudder. He must have had the deepest, scratchiest baritone she'd ever heard. Having it growl out such loving things so close to her ear had her ready to perish in a cataclysm of flames. Any discomfort from his temperature was quickly burned away.

"I change my mind."

All she wanted was for his hips to shift properly and push down against her just right, joining them as husband and wife.

"I _do_ want to have sex."

He would take care of her. It would be amazing and beautiful and help his problem better than anything else she could do. What was she waiting for?

"With you. Now."

* * *

The universe hated him. That was the only explanation for his little wife to now be asking him to fuck her. His eyes shut tight and he worked to calm himself a moment, swallowing the immediate response of _Sure, babes absolutely!_ as he ran his hand down her sides.

"Not yet, baby... I don't wanna hurt ya. We gotta get some meat on those bones first."

He smiled and opened his eyes, bending to kiss her firmly. He let a hand slide down to tease over her clit and down over the slit of her core, groaning softly.

"Besides, you're drunk. Don't wanna take advantage."

He kissed her cheek, letting his finger dip inside of her.

"Let's set a goal. For yer weight. When we hit it... then we can have sex. Hmm? How's that sound?"

* * *

_Don't want to hurt you. Get some meat on those bones. You're drunk. Take advantage. Set a goal for your weight._

None of the reasons he was hissing out, nervously almost, made any goddamn sense to Lydia. Her previously calm, pulsating heart sunk into her stomach. Something was wrong. Somewhere along the way, she had misinterpreted something.

"Don't... don't you want me?"

She was so confused and hurt. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of her nudity rather than relishing it. Her arms trembled with the desire to come and cross over her chest but ultimately did not for fear of insulting him, making things worse. Didn't he think she was beautiful? Now she was too skinny for him?

Unable to meet his gaze even as he loomed over her, her chin tucked down, a short black fringe hiding her dangerously glassy eyes.

* * *

He cursed to himself and pressed his hips forward, letting his cock slide along her core. He let out a strangled growl, bending to force her chin up with a bruising kiss.

"You have no idea how hard yer makin' this for me, babes... o' course I want you. Ya can't tell? I been doin' a shit job as yer husband then."

He sat back on his knees, hauling her hips back into his lap roughly.

"You listen here, Lydia. Ya remember how I was before, right? I was a _monster_. You were scared o' me..."

A hand smoothed up her concave stomach. There was a little more there now than a few days ago, but not nearly enough to claim she was healthy enough for sex. He thumbed her clit gently, unable to help himself.

"I ain't about to go back t'that. Lil' healthy caution, maybe, but..."

He smirked and bent to kiss her again, nearly squishing her between his thighs and gut.

"I don' want ya thinkin' yer anything' less than a wet dream, but my number one priority right now is gettin' ya healthy and happy."

He nuzzled his nose against hers, perhaps holding her a little too tight.

"Aint ya happy, baby girl?"

* * *

His roughish treatment intimidated her out of debating it. It didn't make sense to her that if he wanted her so much he would wait for something so petty and insignificant to have sex. Lydia saw emaciated whores shagging it out in the damp crevices of Chicago and New York City all the time.

But then again, he was more than the average man; larger, more powerful, less restrained. It didn't help that she was contrarily smaller than the average woman, in both stature and strength. The implication that she wasn't well enough to handle something as basic as sex, however, still bothered her on an indignant level.

"I'm‒ I _am‒_ "

She wanted to argue that she was healthy enough but knew that it wasn't true. She couldn't remember the last time she ate a fruit or vegetable before he took her. For that matter, when was her last period? Was she so malnourished that her body just stopped? Had she really just... not noticed? She recalled worrying once that it would come and she wouldn't have any sanitary products while she was at the Gallaghers, but then it was never an issue.

His rough mitt palmed firmly over her bony, empty middle, something inside of her lurched, and she wanted to cry. He was right. Why did he have to be right? How had she let herself get so low?

"I'm _happy_."

She choked on the words, and it wasn't clear whether it was from emotion or how tightly he was crushing her to him.

* * *

He sighed as she started to choke on her words, his hand coming up to cup her face in one large paw. He kissed her gentler now, rubbing her cheek.

"It's okay, babes. Don't get upset on me... ya been through some real tough shit lately. But yer here now... with me. We're gonna fix it, okay?"

He smiled weakly, not quite sure if he believed himself. She was so weak, so malnourished and small. It seemed that she was perhaps realizing this herself.

The moment was dead.

He rolled off of her, flat on his back and pulled her into his side.

"Hey, I know it's a lot but we're gonna get there, okay? We'll make sure yer feelin' real good before we consummate. I refuse t'hurt my girl, n' I know I ain't got that much self-control. It's me. Not you."

* * *

It was hard seeing herself as some sort of victim. After all, of all the hardships and obstacles she'd faced, she had come out alive and kicking, ready to face the next challenge; not unlike little Percy and Tia. They didn't know that they needed care and comfort and love. Someone had to show them they did, just like Betelgeuse was doing for her.

She calmed laying there pulled tight to his side, coming to terms with the facts of the case. This was not a rejection. It was a postponement. Because he cared about her. She could understand that.

"You never asked what happened to them."

He hadn't asked her much of anything at all. He just found her in the gutter like a tarnished coin, picked her up, polished her, and put her in his pocket. It didn't really matter to him, did it? He still got her at the end of the day.

* * *

"Who? Yer folks?"

He didn't know who else she could possibly mean. After all, it was their deaths that had put her in the position he found her in, and he couldn't help but be sour about that. The living were too fragile, and far too attached. One died and the whole family went to pieces.

"Ya wanna tell me, kitten? I didn't wanna upset ya by askin'. Could always ask Juno, but I kinda had my hands full."

He teasingly squeezed her ass, his other hand coming to smooth over the side of her breast. As teasing as the action was, his face was still stoic and somewhat calm. He wasn't trying to get a rise out of her, just wanted to lighten the mood.

"Do ya miss 'em? I could try to find out where they're at... say the word and it's yours, ya know that..."

* * *

"I know where they are."

Lydia had pointedly avoided the subject of her family during her time with him as she wasn't sure how he felt about them. She wasn't sure how _she_ felt about them. Initially, she hadn't been in any position to demand he bring her to them, and now that she was, Lydia wasn't sure she wanted that.

"They're in Connecticut. Back... in the house."

She almost said "home." That wasn't her home anymore. This was. He hammered that point in further, squeezing and groping indulgently without any real aim. His lust never really went away, it seemed. It just took naps.

"Haunting it. With Adam and Barbara. They drowned in the same river. Swerved off the same bridge. My Dad was drunk. They didn't have a will, and nobody in their family wanted to take me. If I kept telling all the people I wanted to stay with my dead family, they would have had me locked up..."

* * *

He listened without interrupting, holding her tight against him as she spoke. It was clear to him that this was still a sensitive topic, so he didn't pipe in the scathing reviews he wanted to.

The same bridge? What the fuck was Chuck doing driving drunk when his kid was at home? For someone that concerned with their finances, how stupid was it to not have a will?

He sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead firmly. "If you wanna go visit, let me know. And if ya don't that's fine too. Ya don't owe 'em anythin'. Not Chuck, Delilah, or the Dumbass Duo. Okay?"

He searched her face, trying to figure out the emotion that she was feeling. He sucked with emotions. One of the few things he was bad at.

"Is there anythin' still at the house ya want? I can get it for ya..."

* * *

"I don't think I could face them like this."

Clarification for what she meant went unspoken but remained clear; Neglected. Starved. _Married_.

"They wouldn't understand..."

A big part of her was furious with her father and Delia for leaving her behind so irresponsibly. Another part had already forgiven them.

"They would want me to leave you. I don't want to leave you. I don't know how to explain that in a way that would make sense to them."

Lydia hid from the weight of indecision beneath the blanket, curling it up over her head as she nestled into the crook of his neck so that she was thoroughly hidden away.

"All of my stuff‒ theirs too‒ went into a storage locker that I won't have access to until I'm eighteen. Same as my dad's money. Probably why none of his family wanted me. No financial incentive."

* * *

She had some good points, as much as he was loathed to admit it. They wouldn't understand. No one ever understood being in love at fifteen.

"Hey... yer birthday's next week. I could go round us up a good time. If ya know where the stuff is, I could probably get it out for ya, since we're happily wed n' all. Just need a good cover."

He patted the pile of feather comforter that made up her rear and smiled. Despite everything she'd been through, she maintained a childlike quality that he could appreciate. He'd grown up too fast... he wasn't going to let his wife.

"Come on. We'll change the subject. Whatcha wanna do for your birthday, kitten?"

* * *

Usually, Lydia's birthdays were a lowkey affair. She would get one to two expensive presents from her father and Delia, the number fluctuating depending on how abominable she had been to her stepmother that year. They would go out to eat at a restaurant of her choosing and then Lydia would get to go see a movie at the theater. They never came with her. They didn't have a stomach for the chilling, gory thrill-rides Lydia liked to choose.

That all seemed very tame and dull once Betelgeuse asked what she wanted. The sky was the limit. She was less concerned with what she actually wanted than making sure he wasn't bored for the special occasion. She was only going to turn sixteen once, and it was a devilish age.

"A party," she decided boldly, grinning with a mischievous gleam in her gaze. "There's a ballroom here, right? I want to put it to use. Streamers and balloons and punch and music and dancing and _everything!_ A chocolate fountain with white chocolate‒ and raspberries! I've never been to a real party before. Not even school dances. No one ever asked me."

Something occurred to her, bringing a gloom down on her enthusiasm.

"But... I guess I don't really know anyone to invite. Can't have a party without guests..."

* * *

"Hey, leave guests to me babes. I know plenty of people who'd love to go to a ball."

He smiled and brushed his thumb over her cheek, glad that talk of celebration had pulled her out of her shell a bit. He could manage a ball. That wouldn't be a problem.

"Ya know, if we're gonna have a ball, you'll need a ball gown. Do ya trust me to pick one or do you wanna go shopping? Only a few days left if it's gonna get altered."

He hummed softly, his mind racing with preparations and plans. He could throw her a sweet sixteen the likes of which the world had never seen. He was already picturing silver tinsel spiderwebs and deep red velvet.

It would have to be perfect. Anything for his girl.

* * *

"You can pick one out for me."

He had excellent tastes. There was probably already something in that closet worthy of a shindig of this caliber. It was far too easy and comfortable for them to lie there in complete, mutual nudity while chit-chatting.

"Just nothing pink."

He wouldn't _dare_. Tia was whining down in her bed, waking Percy who had jumped down to snuggle her. She was just a baby and was therefore distressed by the revelation that she needed to relieve herself.

"You need to potty, baby?"

Lydia baby-talked the pup, already having crawled out of bed and his arms to don her robe. It was a long walk outside. Hopefully, Tia could make it.

* * *

He hadn't even thought about a puppy needing certain... things. Thank god Lydia was there to cover his shortfalls.

He pulled his own robe on and walked with her, humming to himself as he mentally built a guest list and layout for her big, blowout birthday.

"Hmm. Ya know maybe in a week or so, you'll be feeling better..."

This musing made it out of his mouth only because he was a few steps behind her, watching the silky material of her robe shift with her thin hips as he walked. A sweet sixteen was as good a time as any to consummate a marriage, right?

He thought so. Provided she kept eating well and seemed to be improving, she might be ready for the main act. It remained to be seen.

* * *

Percy was tucked into her pocket to come with them, refusing to be left alone once he saw the whole family was going. Lydia could feel eyes on her as she walked on just a few feet ahead of him and the intensity of her husband's gaze made her blush. He was practically burning through her thin robe. The blush darkened as she thought about what he must have been thinking about.

The closest route back outside was through the kitchens, past the greenhouse– as Lydia didn't want Tia using that area as a potty– and back out to the courtyard.

"We need to install a doggie door for you."

She was too tiny to be able to push one open with any effect. For the foreseeable future, they would be taking her on these little walks it seemed. It was good practice for taking care of a living thing that required a little more maintenance. While Tia did her business, Lydia retreated to her husband's arms in a fruitless attempt to escape the cold. Still, all the stars were out, the moon was bright, and the moment was a lovely repose to an eventful day.


	8. Chapter 8

The days leading up to Lydia's birthday were filled with Betel gently plying her into a semblance of health with high-calorie foods and lots of indirect sunlight through the windows of her library or a shaded tree out in the courtyard. He wanted everything to be perfect. Sixteen was a big milestone, even in his day, and he knew they were lucky that she even survived to see it considering her unfortunate life thus far.

He invited people who he thought Lydia would like to meet. Edgar Allen Poe, Jane Austen, Queen Victoria. He didn't know if any of them would come, but it didn't hurt to fill the guest list up with a Who's-Who just in case. He had very carefully been preparing her for after the ball as well. She got at least one orgasm a day, usually to start or end it, and the morning of her birthday was no different.

First, he laid out her ballgown and jewelry, having already informed her that she should spend most of the day in her robe since they weren't going out before the festivities began. Then, he happily slipped under the covers to kiss her awake with cold lips on her inner thighs. He carefully lifted her knee up and onto his shoulder, working toward his goal.

* * *

There was a subtle change to her petite physique. She still had leagues to go as far as filling out but was no longer terrifyingly skeletal. Her hips had a more distinct curve now, her breasts plusher. Everything about her was just a bit softer and more squeezable. With the things he had her eating, it was a wonder she hadn't blown up like a blimp; sugary cakes, fatty meats swimming in savory gravy, butter-saturated starches, and all the trimmings in between.

Lydia had grown accustomed to this kind of good morning greeting. Sleepily, she smacked her lips together, squirming, lashes fluttering at the shock of cold.

"Beeeeej," she whined low and scratchy, arching weakly as though she meant to get away. It was a futile effort. He meant to have his breakfast and he would.

* * *

He couldn't help but chuckle as she squirmed and whined in his hold. He knew she didn't really want to get away from him. If she did, he'd have let her go and they'd have talked about it later.

But she didn't want to get away.

He ran his tongue higher now that he knew she was awake, letting the long appendage slide over and between her labia, sneaking in to find her clit and flick at the underside of it. He groaned at the now familiar sensation of taste. It had been centuries since he could taste anything other than grave dirt, but Lydia… she tasted amazing.

He slipped a finger down and pressed it against her entrance, gently easing her into sleepy arousal.

* * *

No, her higher consciousness didn't want to get away, but the animal part of her that ran the show while she slept was able to recognize a predator for what it was. With feeble, heavy limbs, she continued to fight him off like a weakened kitten until that writhing, ice-cold tongue of his parted her folds to lathe her most sensitive place.

Her eyes snapped open. Milky thighs trapped his head in a firm grip. A throaty moan of his full, proper name escaped, slow and wrought with lustful tension; _"Betelgeeeuuusssee…"_

He was a God like this. A filthy mitt pinned her hips, the other groped at her swelled breast, and his mouth worked her over with languid, casual motions as though he were enjoying his morning coffee. He was a bit meaner today than usual. Once he got her to a point where she was twisting her hips in an even, fluid rhythm, chasing her peak, he switched it up, forcing her to learn a new dance in order to get there.

"Please," she gasped the third time he did this, misted over with sweat, muscles hard and tense. " _Please!_ I'm so close! Please let me!"

* * *

She did beg so sweetly when he was just a little cruel to her. He'd learned this early and exercised the knowledge often, working her up to the peak and then backing off. Sex with Betelgeuse was sometimes a trial of Sisyphus, with the major difference being that he would— eventually— let his partner reach their peak.

He took pity on his little wife when she appeared on the edge of tears, her tiny hips fighting against his hold as he teased and sucked at her. A finger crept back into her, just to confirm that his plans for that evening were still viable, before curling against her walls as he worked her back to the top of the cliff they'd been climbing.

"Go on, baby… cum for Daddy…"

* * *

By the time he was ready to give permission, she had been pushed and pulled back to and from the brink so many times that she was a sopping, pleading mess beneath him, quivering and sobbing like an individual that had been through a traumatic ordeal. The sound alone of that single _Daddy_ rolling off his sinful tongue in that filthy voice did her in.

Obediently, her body snapped to it at his command, the center of her back arching several inches off the mattress as she splintered apart. A melodious shout of ecstatic relief filled the chamber, the cry echoing off the stone walls in a pleasurable harmony.

When she came back from the abyss, he was laid out smug beside her smoking a cigarette as if they'd just spent the entire night making love. Lydia was used to arrogant shows like this and said nothing, only moving her limp form to turn onto her side so they could cuddle and bask in the post-orgasmic morning glow.

"It's my birthday," she yawned dreamily, as if only just then realizing. "When are people going to start showing up for the party?"

Lydia wasn't sure what kind of guests he had in mind but had no doubt that she was in for a hell of a night.

* * *

He held her close when she came to cuddle, rubbing her back in slow, wide ovals. His cigarette was disappointingly tasteless, but the taste of Lydia was still on his tongue, so he couldn't care.

"People should start showin' up around 8 or so. We got all day to get ready and celebrate one on one."

He smiled and kissed her gently, only interrupted by Tia jumping at the edge of the bed. Percy had easily learned how to climb the bedsheets, but the little pup had yet to make the leap. He chuckled and bent down to get her, lifting her onto the bed where she immediately jumped onto Lydia, her whole body wagging as she licked at her face.

Betel snorted. "She says 'Happy Birthday, momma!' Right, Tia?"

* * *

Ready for them as soon as she heard that familiar yipping for attention, Lydia puckered her lips in the pup's direction in a signal that Tia had learned meant she was ready to receive kisses. Tia happily obliged.

" _Hewwo,"_ she muttered in her babying voice inbetween kisses, divvying her attention up between the two furry babies vying for it. _"Whos' da most prettiest fluffiest babies in da whole wide world? Is my babies! Mommy wuvs you so much…"_

She knew Betelgeuse could only stomach so much of this, so she only carried on for a little while, until the sight of something bright and gleaming hanging on her closet door drew her attention. With a gasp, she was on her feet, passing the babies off to Betelgeuse so that she could investigate.

It was a ball gown, made of moonbeams and spun sugar. The skirt was massive, bigger than herself, with layers upon layers of pearlescent gossamer creating the shape of an upside-down flower in full bloom. The bodice was barely there at all compared to the skirt. It was backless and strapless with a plunging neckline. A thick satin bow tied at the hip served to offset the adult expanses of flesh on display and give an innocent charm.

A pair of crystal heels– short enough to allow her to dance comfortably– sat shining on the ground below it, casting a rainbow prism from a stray sunbeam hitting them through the window.

"Beej," Lydia breathed in awe, afraid to touch it. "It's so _beautiful_. It looks like a wedding dress for a princess…"

* * *

He hummed softly as she went to investigate the gown, a soft smile on his face as Tia turned her attention to his mossy cheeks in her mommy's absence. His head tilted, Betelgeuse already imagining her in the flowing layers of tulle and satin. The whole party had a vaguely fairytale theme. She would definitely be the belle of her own ball.

"Well, you're my princess n' this is a big day. I wanted it to be perfect. Don't worry, ya don't gotta get home by midnight."

* * *

Lydia proceeded to receive a decadent pampering all morning. Not done fattening her up quite yet, after their morning tryst she was fed a breakfast of strawberry pancakes with whip cream and hot syrup, as well as all of the sides that had come with every other breakfast he gave her; coffee, milk, and orange juice, her choice of bacon, sausage, or ham, and likewise a variety of fruit.

After this, she was bathed, fresh cream and rose oil added to the steaming water. While he massaged her calves and feet into oblivion, fragrant exotic oils steeping in her hair, she sipped on a chilly blood orange mimosa that kept the heat from the bath from becoming too much.

"Sweet sixteen…" she murmured as he worked at her, head lolled back and resting on a rolled plush towel. "I'm a lot younger than you, you know."

This was the first time Lydia had ever vocalized the elephant in the room, though no awkwardness or tension came forth from her admission. He kept on rubbing and she kept on sipping.

"How come that doesn't bother you?" _Or me?_

* * *

He hummed and tipped his head when she finally brought it up. She had danced around the subject up until now, but it was time they talked about it. He pressed his thumbs into the arch of her foot and hummed softly to himself.

"Maybe 'cause in my day no one woulda batted an eye at a guy my age marryin' a girl your age… maybe it's 'cuz it's _you…_ " He leered, bending in to kiss her cheek gently. "Does it bother you, kitten? Knowing I'm so much older than you?"

He was suddenly concerned that it did bother her… he hadn't considered it before, but there was a strong chance she was disgusted by him and letting him have his way so he'd keep her in her life of luxury.

He pushed the thought aside. This was Lydia. She was the most truthful woman he'd ever met. The other day she'd opened a book too far and cracked the spine. She'd come to him nearly in tears… if it bothered her, she'd tell him.

* * *

"Mm-mm."

Her head shook _no_ , eyes closed in bliss. He was putting real strength into his kneading now, driven on by something. Insecurity perhaps? How silly. She only asked out of curiosity, but the question seemed to have bothered him somewhat and so she indulged his ego. She only did so in small doses as it was already massive and easily inflated.

"Besides, I've always liked… older men."

Lydia didn't have any romantic history to speak of, but nothing about the saggy jean-wearing, sparse mustache-growing, Axe-stinking boys her age had ever enflamed her the way he did.

"Someone who's been there, done that, and knows how to do it well."

She already didn't have half a clue what she was doing in bed with him half the time. What good would an equally clueless boy bumbling along with her be? She giggled at the mental image of herself with some pimply-faced metalhead then downed the rest of the mimosa.

"Dating seems messy."

* * *

"Dating blows. The whole thing makes no sense to me… people should do things the way they did back in my day, huh? Let the parents handle it or…"

He smirked and moved his massage up to work at her calves.

"I guess we did kind of elope… feels extra naughty."

He grinned and worked further up her leg.

"I think tonight's the night…" He mentioned it offhand, as though it were a casual thing. "You're feelin' better… lookin' healthy…"

He chuckled softly and patted her knee. "I'll show ya exactly how well I know how to do it."

* * *

His beliefs were certainly… archaic. Lydia was not too eager to jump into the dating pool even before discovering she was spoken for, but arranged marriages seemed like a drastic leap to take from that. Then again, he was no modern man and she'd never held any delusions that he was. Of course, arranged marriage would seem simpler to him, growing up in a castle like this and living in the time he did.

_I think tonight's the night…_

Quite suddenly, internal musings of his past and doctrine were forgotten in favor of the now.

"Really?!"

She sat up straight to bring herself closer to him.

" _Really_ really? You mean it? I don't want to wait! I want to do it right now!"

* * *

He grinned at her enthusiasm, the leg he was working on splashing back into the water as she sat up, leaning into him.

"I mean it… I mean it that ya gotta wait for tonight, too."

Cupping her cheek in his hand, he leaned in to kiss her firmly, rubbing his thumb over the lily soft skin of her face.

"Gotta say, I'm glad yer so excited. Thought maybe we wouldn't get past fingers at one point."

He was mostly teasing, but ancient spirits sometimes got insecure too. The fact of the matter remained that he had invited any number of women willing to sneak away from the ball if she had changed her mind. Thankfully, it seemed she hadn't. In fact, she seemed more excited about their fucking than the party itself. He chuckled softly and shook his head.

"You're so fuckin' cute, Lyds."

* * *

She preened under his praise, absolutely radiating with joy to be so adored by him, blissfully ignorant to his backup plans. As far as Lydia was aware, she was the only option on his roster just like he was the only one on hers.

The rest of the day was spent in leisurely comfort doing whatever Lydia wanted to do. For several hours, they played in the orchard with the babies, picking fruit and teaching tricks to Tia, who was very cute but a slow learner. Then time was spent in the library where Lydia read aloud to him from the book she was reading, content to let him use her lap as a pillow.

Come seven o'clock, Lydia shooed him away, insisting on getting ready and dressing herself.

"I don't want you to see me until I'm ready," she argued, working hard to push his stubborn weight out the door. "I can do my own hair and makeup! Go get comfortable in the ballroom, I'll meet you there!"

* * *

He begrudgingly left her to get ready, donning a tattered suit that seemed like it may have once been a costume for some kind of prince. The shoulders were too big, and the buttons didn't match, but it was an effort he didn't usually put into his look. He oversaw the last of the decorating and before he knew it, guests were arriving. It seemed that word had spread.

_Betelgeuse was hosting a ball. There's a chance you might see his bride. Aren't you curious?_

More people had come than he'd invited, but with a buffet table magically replenishing itself and plenty to drink, he didn't care about the party crashers. He waited impatiently at the base of the stairwell, ready to show off his wife.

* * *

Nearly half an hour past the time she initially quoted him, Lydia found herself scurrying down the empty hall that led toward the ballroom. Getting dressed by herself in that massive gown and doing her own hair had taken longer than anticipated, making her fashionably late to her own soiree.

When she peeked through the draping velvet curtains that led to the grand staircase, her heart leaped up into her throat. The room was packed! All manner of ghouls and goblins were throwing down on the dance floor, Betelgeuse overseeing it all from a spot at the foot of the stairs. She knew there were other entrances to the ballroom, but didn't know how to get there.

She couldn't come through here. Everyone would see her.

"That's her!" An indistinct voice called out, catching the shine of Lydia's gown peaking through the curtain. Slowly, the crowd began to look her way, and seeing no other choice she stepped out onto the landing, revealing herself.

* * *

Betel turned to smile at her when the crowd had all hushed and turned toward the staircase. People were jostling each other, eager for a peek at the woman who'd nailed down his infamous personage.

"There's my birthday girl! Fashionably late, babes. I dig it."

He held out his hand, ready to help her down the stairs should she need it. She really did look like something out of a fairytale. Her dark hair glistened in the light of the candelabras and chandeliers that lit the ballroom, her eyes wide as though she hadn't actually expected a real party.

After a moment he climbed the stairs to fetch her, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek gently.

"Come on, kitten. It's your birthday! This is all for you. Think I got everything. Look, daddy even remembered yer white chocolate fountain. Ain't ya impressed?"

* * *

As a matter of fact, Lydia hadn't been expecting a real party. For some reason, she thought there'd be maybe a dozen or so random ghosts of ill repute and the rest would all be carnival magic on his end, but that was not the case. She took his arm with a satin-gloved hand when he came, and focused intently on not tripping over her lead feet as they descended the stairs.

All eyes were on them, the volume of gossipping whispers nearly overpowering the band now. Any appetite Lydia might have had vanished at the knowledge that these many people were here just to scrutinize her.

"Thank you," she gulped, gaze flickering over the fountain for a split second before returning to their guests. There were clowns and werewolves, spiders and skeletons, demons and goblins. As far as she could spot, she was the only living, breathing mortal in attendance, and she wasn't the only one to notice either.

Her gown was a testament to this, making her stick out like a shining star among all the guests' deathly doom and gloom.

"BJ, do you… do you _know_ all these people?"

* * *

"Most of em. What's it matter? C'mon, baby!"

Why was she being so shy? He'd done all of this to her specifications and here she was barely moving down the stairs. He tightened his hold on her and headed down the steps, careful to give her enough give to not trip on her dress. He looked at her for a long moment when they reached the bottom before turning to address the room.

"Ladies, Gentlemen and neither… may I introduce my wife, lady of the castle, and the reason we're here tonight. This is Lydia."

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her cheek as the crowd cheered and clapped for her appearance. He guided her into the masses and toward the dance floor, sweeping her into his arms. "Shall we dance before our guests descend n' wanna know all about ya?"

* * *

She only giggled nervously at his question, put in better spirits by the guests' applause and holding on tight as he put her into position for a simple waltz.

"There's nothing to know, really…"

All these people couldn't be here for her, could they? No, it just didn't make any sense.

"I'm just nervous." She pressed closer, trying to avoid looking down at feet covered by her skirts to make sure she was stepping right. "Nobody else here is like… _me_. Everybody's staring at me and talking about me and I'm‒ I'm just not that interesting, Beej."

"Oh, I very much beg to differ."

The foreign voice came from behind her, and Lydia was so surprised by it that she released Betelgeuse entirely to turn and greet the newcomer. He was tall and lean, dead flesh tinged green. A gleaming crown made of bone and rubies sat atop a head of messy dark hair. Lydia herself was wearing a simple emerald tiara, but something told her the stranger's headgear was leagues more significant than hers.

"Milady." He bowed just so– but not too far– and Lydia gave what felt like a clumsy, but deep and respectful curtsey in return. "I wish the happiest of… _birth_ days to you on this your sixteenth year."

"Thank… you…"

He recognized the puzzlement in her expression and cracked a smile, the strange move shocking several observing guests.

"Apologies, fair maiden. Of course, you don't know who I am."

How cute. His lowness never got to meet people unaware of his status, much less introduce himself in such a casual manner. How lucky that a stray invite managed to slip into his hands and he found himself morbidly curious enough to see what kind of a dog Betelgeuse had gone and wed. Now he could see that dog was much more of a _fox_.

"Vincent Magnus Malloy III, Prince of the Neitherworld and Sovereign of Souls at your service." Without asking, because he was a Prince and never did, he took her petite gloved hand, brushing a cold kiss across her knuckles. "You may address me as Vince. May I be so bold as to request a dance with the Lady of the hour? You'd be _insane_ to say no."

* * *

"I've been called insane, Vincent. Think ya called me that yerself once or twice."

He knew by heart he hadn't invited his unholiest of dishonors to his wife's birthday party, and this was exactly why. Vince seemed somewhat obsessed with romance and relationships and had been known to break up more than a few just because he liked to. Betel held his wife a little closer, though, in the end, he knew it had to be her choice. He rubbed his hand down her back and turned his attention back to her face.

"Up t'you, baby. Yer party. You can do what ya want."

He secretly hoped she would politely decline, but he knew she was far too sweet for that. Over her shoulder, he caught eyes with one of the girls from Dante's who he'd invited out. She wiggled her fingers in his direction and he raised an eyebrow.

If his wife wanted to be ungrateful and distant, then maybe he could find something else to occupy his time.

* * *

"Oh! I‒ I'm not very good, your highness‒ I mean… _Vince_."

The sound of both monikers sent pleasurable tingles up the Prince's spine. Vincent waved her self-deprecation off easily, as well as completely ignored Betelgeuse from the beginning of the exchange to the end, his attention focused solely on Lydia.

"I won't hear another word of it. You're a natural. I can tell. Now come, Lydia." Her name rolled off his tongue entirely too naturally. "It would do me a great honor if you were to grant me this dance."

The Prince took her free palm, Betelgeuse let go, and the trade was done before Lydia could figure out what she was supposed to do here.

"See? You're a wonderful dancer."

He was just being nice. Lydia had already stumbled over her skirts twice only for him to catch her and set her upright.

"And you're a wonderful liar."

Vince laughed. Necks snapped to turn and watch the morose Prince of the damned be charmed into laughter by Betelgeuse's mortal teenage bride. It was the scandal of the millennia, but none could deny what an attractive figure they both cut.

* * *

Betelgeuse watched for a moment from the side of the dance floor, silently seething. She could have been more assertive. Could have cut the dance short and been back by now. She could have shown any sign she was grateful to him for all he'd done!

Sami, the demoness was still trying to make eye contact. Fuck it. What did he have to lose? With his luck, Vince would whisk Lydia away to become a real princess and he'd never see her again.

Might as well get his rocks off.

He slipped up to Sami with a drink in each hand, putting on his usual Casanova act. He put a hand on her hip once she took her drink and smirked.

"Nice t'see ya, Sami..."

* * *

"I don't know _what_ you see in him."

"He's sweet! And generous. And kind‒"

"We can't possibly be talking about the same man."

The conversation was light and easy. Vincent was good at it. So good that he was able to weasel the meek girl in his arms into talking about her foul, overbearing husband and the host of this ball. It was a travesty to all that was right and good in the world that Betelgeuse should call this angel his wife.

The least Vincent could do was attempt to open her eyes. Purely out of the kindness of his heart, no ulterior motives necessary.

"Why, just tonight I've seen at least half a dozen known succubi unescorted here at this event by _his_ personal invite. Said so themselves as they were propositioning me."

Her expression fell in confusion. A knot began to tangle in her guts. "Succubi? Like… a sex demon?"

"Precisely, by profession. A _true_ lady of the night, if you will. Little more than prostitutes."

So what if he invited some girls he used to sleep with? He was probably just trying to fill the room. Give her the party she asked for.

"He's allowed to have female friends."

The Prince swept her into a flourish, and once her vision settled, she saw something that made her want to swallow every word she just spoke in her husband's defense. There he was. In the arms of another woman. Her lips were on his ear, his hand was low enough on her hip to go ahead and call it her ass, and their bodies were plastered together in a way that Lydia's sugarplum princess dress would never have allowed him to hold her.

"Lydia?" The Prince was calling after her. She could barely hear him over the blood rushing through her ears. Had to get away. Couldn't let anyone else see her like this. _"Lydia?!"_


	9. Chapter 9

He let Sami get close. She used to be a regular pastime of his, and he felt bad pushing Succubi away. After all, this was how they were programmed. Literally what they were born to do. She'd been whispering the latest gossip about Dante's into his ear, a little smirk settling on his features as he listened. It took several moments too long for him to process that Vince was calling for his wife.

Why was he calling her? He should have had her in his pallid, slimy grip. His head whipped up and scanned the ballroom. She was nowhere to be seen. He growled and stepped away from Sami to confront the prince, grabbing him by the lapels and lifting. Several of his guards hurried forward to try and stop him.

"Where'd she go? Where _the fuck_ is my wife, you waif!?"

He shook him, not kindly, and listened to him sputter for a moment before someone tapped him and pointed out the doors into the main hall. He was off at once. Fuck the party, he needed to find his girl. There were too many people who would jump at the chance to hurt her just to get at him. He needed to know where she was, and fast.

He popped into the bedroom, frantic in his searching.

"Lydia! Baby, where are you?"

* * *

Tears didn't start falling until she reached the bedroom. Tia and Percy were so happy to see her. All she wanted in the world was to take them with her, but she couldn't. Betelgeuse loved them and he would take care of them. What could she give them other than cold and hunger?

"I love you so much," she wept brokenly over the confused, tiny bodies, holding both squirming bundles close to her chest as though they were born of her own flesh. "But Mommy has to go now…"

The backpack she kept at the Gallaghers were tucked into a dark nook far in the back of her closet, still filled with tattered clothes, dull pencils, and a perpetually unfinished homework assignment. There wasn't any time to change or pack. She had to go. Before he found her, or he would never let her leave.

A small button she'd never seen before caught her interest at the back of the closet. When she pressed it, one of those secret doors he told her about opened. This one led into a dark unknown and Lydia didn't hesitate to take it.

* * *

He reached the bedroom just as the door was closing behind her. He was frantic now, worried that she'd been kidnapped or worse, took the cover of the party to run away.

"Baby? Please, Lyds ya gotta be here!"

He searched the bathroom, opened every closet and drawer, even the ones she couldn't possibly be hiding in. Her backpack was gone.

She ran.

He dropped to his knees in front of her wardrobe and put his head in his hands. What had he done? Why did she leave? Tia whined and threw her tiny body into his arms. He held her up to his chest, taking comfort in the little warm beast before he noticed it. _There_ , at the back of the closet, was a shimmer. Something was glinting in the moonlight coming through the window. He put the puppy aside and reached out.

A scrap of white tulle.

He scowled and got to his feet, locating the mechanism to open the passage and rushing through it. This had to be where she went.

"Lydia!" He called for what felt like the thousandth time. "Baby, come back up here! It ain't safe in these tunnels… Don't worry, I'm comin' for ya!"

* * *

The tunnels were dark and endless. Lydia couldn't see two feet in front of her nose, even her sparkling gown deprived the right to shine here in this cavern. Still, she moved forward, mapping the course with a gloved hand trailing the wall as she walked.

There was a faint echo coming down the tunnel from whence she came; her name, in a desperate, guttural growl. Aching feet moved faster. Eventually, she abandoned the beautiful, clacking heels. They were too loud and too uncomfortable, even if she might have been able to pawn them for some getting around money.

It was colder there than in the castle. She couldn't tell if she was going up or down or out or further in. Blisters were forming on her numb feet.

" _You are my sunshine,  
_ _My only sunshine…"_

The notes formed quietly, whispering and stuttered on her tongue, but the familiar tune comforted all the same. A woman who looked like her used to sing her this song in the warmest, most beautiful voice.

" _You make me happy,  
_ _When skies are gray,  
_ _You'll never know dear,  
_ _How much I love you,  
_ _Please don't take,  
_ _My sunshine away…"_

* * *

He was starting to fear that something had happened to her. Minutes ago, he found her shoes. He picked them up and carried them with him. Surely it was proof he was going the right way. He was just beginning to lose hope when a lilting, familiar voice rose out of the darkness ahead of him. He hadn't heard Lydia sing for years… once in a while, back in the attic, she would get a tune caught in her head and sing it to herself when she thought no one was watching.

But he was. He was always listening.

He ventured forward slowly, clearing his throat to answer her in what he thought was the best way.

" _The other night dear,  
_ _As I lay sleeping,  
_ _I dreamt I held you in my arms…  
_ _When I awoke, dear  
_ _I was mistaken.  
_ _And I hung my head and I cried…"_

He fought back the panic building in him. She was fine. If she was singing she had to be okay, right?

" _You are my sunshine,  
_ _My only sunshine…"_

* * *

She swallowed the next verse as well as a cry of horror when his voice joined in, freezing in the place where she stood. She knew‒ _she really, really hoped and thought so‒_ that he wouldn't hurt her. Not physically.

But she had made a spectacle and there would be consequences. He let her get away with a lot, but not this. Maybe there was still hope for escape. He sounded so close. Her feet hurt so much.

Above them, the party continued merrily.

As much as she wanted to escape, he was singing _that_ song. Disgusted with him as she was, he didn't get to do that. It wasn't right.

"Tha‒ that's my Ma‒ Mama's song," she cut him off accusingly, giving away her destination in doing so. It was worth it to make him stop.

"It's not… not for you…"

* * *

She was so close.

He was so _angry_.

But through the haze of rage, he was well and thoroughly relieved. She was right there, and safe. With a snap of his fingers, a floating orb of light appeared in front of him, illuminating his poor, tattered wife. Her beautiful ball gown was torn at the edges, and as he looked her over he could see her feet swollen and blistered from walking on the cold flagstones.

"Oh thank fuckin' god… you're okay…."

He hurried to wrap her in his arms, pulling her as close as the hoop of her skirt would allow. He pressed a bruising kiss to her temple, standing there and just holding her for several long, agonizing moments.

"What _the fuck_ were you _thinking?"_

The words were hissed into her ear, his hold tightening to the point that it must have been painful.

"You scared the shit outta me! _C'mere_."

With her clutched so tight, it was easy to pop them back to her bedroom. He pushed her onto the bed and pulled her foot up to look at it.

"Fuck! Look at you. You're a mess, Lyds. Strip and get in the bath. _Now_."

* * *

His embrace, which was once so comforting, felt like a frozen iron trap. All through his tirade, she cried. Sobbed and sobbed, until her chest hurt and she felt dizzy. Still, upon his flat demand, she stood on aching feet, dropped the backpack from her shoulders, stripped down without any help whatsoever, then limped shamefully to the steadily filling tub.

Through it all, she continued to wail, lost in the throes of despair. She cried for her old life with her parents and the Maitlands, and for them stuck there now, dead and haunting and forced to forever bicker over interior design. She cried for what could have been if her father wasn't such a drunk bastard. She cried for the tarnished thing she and Betelgeuse had‒ dirtied by both their hands, certainly beyond cleansing.

Why did everything that went wrong go downhill so quickly? All it took was a slippery road or a polite dance.

Once all of the messy, emotional tears were exhausted, she lay resigned and mute in the far corner of the tub, where he would have to lean and put effort into it to reach her. Eyes open and smudged black, she stared at nothing on the marble tile ahead of, not following its beautiful, intricate design.

Speaking took so much energy. He would have to work to make it worth her while.

* * *

He bit his tongue as he cleaned her up, cleaning and balming sore feet, and wiping the majority of makeup off her face. A snap made a tray of herbal tea and plain, somewhat stale cookies appear at her elbow. He was angry but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to take care of her.

She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stared ahead and cried until she couldn't anymore.

He paced in long, quick strokes back and forth from the bedroom and to the tub. He wanted to leave. To let her be locked away in her wing like so many Belles before her and rot in her perfect princess' prison, but he knew he could never do it. Finally, he stopped to stare at her, his face carefully emotionless.

"You left. You ran away… after everything I've done for you. _Why?_ Do you hate me that much? Hmm?"

He bent over the tub to force her eyes to meet his, his stare as cold as his touch.

"Do I disgust you, little girl?"

* * *

She flinched when he lunged for her, cringed deeper into the tub, but he wasn't having any of it. This was a face she had never seen on him, but always knew he was capable of.

_He was wrong!_

The defiant voice of her subconscious, usually so meek and quiet these days, lashed out as he continued to spit venom at her. _Little girl._ Her upper lip rose in a sneer to match his, her arm drew back, and before either of them knew what had happened, she had slapped him.

"YOU'RE A _LIAR!"_

An unearthly passion possessed her, years of emotional and physical abuse bottled up and reaching a head. No regret for the slap issued on her expression. She raised her jaw, in fact, as if daring him to strike her back. More tears were streaming now, but she owned them in her great rage and sadness, looking like some damaged muse as she erupted there in the tub, still wearing his grandmother's jewelry.

"You _hurt_ me. You said you wanted to do the whole marriage thing 'right.' You said I was your _baby‒_ "

She choked, heartbroken and terrified of how he would retaliate despite her brave facade.

"You were all over her! She was _touching_ you!"

Lydia actually gagged, sick to the stomach from the memory.

"Why was she _touching_ you like that? Why did _you let her?_ Why did you invite so many _fucking hookers_ to my birthday party?"

They came out one right after the other in an angry, heartsick rush.

"Why did you do _any_ of this?!"

* * *

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. She had seen him talking with Sami, gotten the wrong impression… probably helped along by her dance partner. He softened somewhat after everything came pouring out of her. Clearly, she needed to get this all off her chest. After a long, still moment he cracked a smile.

"Hit me again. If that makes ya feel better. Y'wanna know why… let's see."

He cleared his throat and settled in his stool at the edge of the tub, knitting his fingers and tilting his head as he looked at her.

"Why was she touchin' me? N' why did I let her… I can answer both of those at once. She's a succubus. It's in her nature to flirt, flounce n' yeah… touch. I let her because she's our guest, and quite frankly I was jealous." He sniffed and looked away for a moment. "Couldn't watch that asshole prince hold ya so I distracted myself. I don't exactly got a wide friend circle, n' the girls don't get out much so I invited 'em."

He crossed his arms and stared at a crack in the floor.

"I didn't mean t'hurt ya. I do wanna do marriage right, but I don't fuckin' know how… You are my baby n' I—"

He choked on the words he really wanted to say. They were too final. Too heavy for him to bear if she threw them in his face.

He put his head in his hands.

"I was so fuckin' scared. When I couldn't find ya… I thought somethin' had happened. Ya got kidnapped or… or hurt… but seein' that ya ran away hurt so much worse… if ya hate me, you can leave. I won't force ya t'put up with me. You've done enough."

* * *

"I don't hate you," she snapped to answer without missing a beat, emotions still strung high despite his calm. Something about his explanations left something to be desired.

"I _love_ you."

Apparently, Lydia wasn't half the coward he was. She surrendered this truth without any fear or hesitancy, still humming with tense energy.

"‒ and Vince didn't have his hand on my ass. He was being a perfect gentleman. I only just met him tonight. You were feeling up someone you have a sexual history with in front of everyone, not _ten fucking minutes_ after introducing me to the room as your wife. It's _not_ the same thing. I would never have let another man touch me like that, much less in the _same room_ as you and on your _birthday_."

She took a breath, surprised at how very much she was saying, as well as the conviction with which she spoke.

"And I love you. So I ran away so you couldn't hurt me like that ever again. I can't take it. I just _can't_."

* * *

He was shocked into looking at her by the words he'd choked on just moments ago. He couldn't do much more than stare at her as she scolded him, his chest tight.

"You're right….I. I'm sorry… I didn't think about it. I've had so much shit goin' on up here.." He tapped his temple, shaking his head. "N' these ain't excuses. I got none of those, just. Me tryin' t'communicate or whatever."

He reached for her, gently taking one of her own, delicate and dainty hands in his own oversized and calloused one.

"Baby please believe me… I didn't mean t'hurt ya like this, and I can be better. I promise that I'll be better… because I —"

He shut his eyes tight, a single rebellious tear falling down his cheek without him catching it.

"I love you too. I love you so much and I'm so scared I'm gonna lose ya."

* * *

His confession spilled forth, and Lydia couldn't withhold her affections anymore. Full of love and forgiveness, she wrapped wet arms around broad shoulders and brought his cold face to her damp breast to rest.

"Shhh," she hushed as if he was the one who had just spent the past several minutes bawling like a wild person and not her. "I don't want to leave… I just didn't know what to do. I was scared too. That I'm not… enough."

Sami was tall and busty, with good child-bearing hips had she the mind to lay some eggs. Lydia was none of these things. He was so loathe to risk hurting her frail form that he postponed his lust to make room for her. She was dreadfully mortal and limited. What could he get from her that he couldn't get from Sami?

"That you would keep me here and pretend to love me even though you don't _really_ love me, while I _really_ loved you… and… uhm…"

Saying it all out loud, it sounded insane. _Wow_.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

He pressed his face quite happily into her offered breast, nuzzling in against her as he wrapped his arms around her damp form. He sighed and pressed his lips against her skin gently.

"Don't worry about shit like that, babes… ya know I do what I can to keep ya happy. Yer more than enough for me."

He slid his hand up to the back of her neck and then back down to cup her ass. He could hear the music, distantly, that meant his so-called friends were keeping the party alive. It was just as well. At least someone was celebrating.

"Come on, baby. Let's get ya t'bed. You'll catch a cold in there. Besides, I believe I promised ya one more birthday present... if ya still want it."

He smirked playfully and scooped her up, drying her off and carefully removing the tiara from her head before making for the bedroom.

* * *

Heart, mind, and ego were still bruised, but it felt so good to be back in his arms. As he carried her back to bed, she was starting to feel whole again when he offered to fulfill the promise made earlier in the day.

"I do…"

After everything, Lydia wouldn't back out now, but she still mourned how this night should have gone; her sweet, generous husband slowly stripping her from that starlight gown before making slow, sweet love to her all through the night. That was tainted now. They were both still hurting. Whatever was going to happen next frightened her on some level, but not enough to give it up.

This was _hers_ and she wouldn't let it slip away.

"I just can't… stop thinking about you _touching_ her…"

* * *

"Let me touch you instead… I promise I'll never touch another woman again. You're all I need…"

He pressed his lips to her neck and hummed softly as he laid her out on her back in the middle of their spacious bed. Sometime tonight he decided he didn't need his chambers. He was never leaving her side again.

"You're all I want, too. There ain't nothin I can get at Dante's that you can't do better."

He kissed her lips next, his hand sliding to her hip where it gently pulled her up and against him. He was starting to feel impatient. He had been essentially blue balling himself for weeks to keep her happy, but he was promised a fuck and he was going to get it.

"Just lay back and relax, princess. Let daddy take good care of his birthday girl."

* * *

A traumatized, distrusting portion of herself didn't believe him, thought that he was just saying whatever he needed to say to get her back to a state of willing compliance so that he could get what he wanted. Another part, the dominant part, didn't care if it was the truth or not because it sounded so good.

It was easier to silence the voices of doubt that constantly reminded her of her own inadequacy and instead put faith in his dark whispering. Every touch felt new and bittersweet, Lydia caught in a reverent state of gratitude that they were all _hers_ and not some other woman's.

"I'm sorry," she moaned as he brought his teeth into the equation, suckling dark marks into her neck. "I'm _so_ sorry. I ruined everything. You worked so hard to make it perfect and I messed it all up…"

Not that his efforts weren't having the desired effect, but her poor heart was wide open and bleeding, mingling deeper emotions in with the lust he stoked.

"I didn't even get to meet any of your friends…"

That she could still hear her birthday party in full swing through the stone walls served to rub salt into the open wound.

"Can we… go back? After? Or is it too late…?"

* * *

"We can do anythin' ya want, after…"

That was important. She needed to be fully aware that he was going to get what he wanted first and foremost. She could go be the princess again after he made her his toy. He continued sucking deep, bruising marks into her neck and chest, one hand searching between her thighs for his ultimate goal. Tonight was the night she became his once and for all.

What was that saying? You never forget your first? That was more true than his soft, weeping wife would ever know.

He quested further, sliding a gnarled finger into her the way she was accustomed to.

"Just relax, baby girl… I'll take care of ya n' then we can do whatever."

* * *

Ever trembling and skittish, Lydia forced herself to let go of all the ugliness; jealousy and hurt and insecurity. There was no room for it here. Tears swallowed, she held onto his still-clothed shoulders as he went to work, prodding at her intact maidenhead.

"I love you so much…"

It came out as a dying whimper, like one of her pathetic little pleas when he was edging her mercilessly. The single finger that was able to fit past the crevice in her hymen curled, agitating the fragile membrane and rubbing at a deeply sensitive, untouched bundle of nerves hidden within her.

Her body jerked. Her grip on his shoulders tightened. Teeth dug in harder to her bottom lip, expression twisted in consternation. She looked as though she was already taking on his cock and having a difficult time of it and it was just his index finger.

"Nnng," she huffed, caught between pleasure and discomfort, "Daddy…"

* * *

He smoothed his empty hand over her stomach as though he could banish the pain she was apparently experiencing. It was silly, really. She'd taken him before. Maybe not so deep, but still.

"Relax, kitten… that's it. Doesn't that feel good?"

He curled his finger against the place again before adding a second finger to the equation and gently stretching her open. He tried his best to maintain the integrity of that thin membrane that marked without a doubt that she was his and his alone.

"You're doin' great, kid… just let me in. You're gonna feel so good around my cock… _fuck_."

Impatience reared it's ugly head and pulled his fingers free to haul her up against him.

"Get my clothes off. Now."

* * *

Without breaking his intense gaze, she set about unbuttoning his ratty tux with shaking fingers. He had never ordered her around so fiercely when they indulged in each other's bodies before. His mannerisms were always very patient and sweet, gently guiding her into the world of sex.

This was a different side of him previously hidden from her. The way he stared down at her now, bloodshot emerald eyes surrounded by deep death locked shadows boring into her very soul, she was frightened all over again. Keeping her brave face, she once more sought mercy.

"I'm sorry."

It was barely audible, tiny fingers having moved on to his belt. Vocal apologies weren't enough. Once his pants were hanging loose, she pressed long, sweet open-mouthed kisses to his neck while pushing his jacket and shirt from his shoulders, even daring to go as far as bite him. Not too hard, but more aggressive than anything she had done before.

Before he was completely nude, she broke orders to attempt wrapping her soft, puny hand around the tool he threatened to rip her apart with. His feral gaze was just as terrible as before when she pulled back from her cute attempt to leave him hickeys.

"Is it going to… hurt?"

* * *

"Yeah. But only for a moment."

He took hold of her wrist and pulled her closer, pressing himself against her more fully. There was no use in lying to her. She was already upset with him, so why try to pretend that she wasn't going to hate this?

He kissed her firmly, one hand gripping her ass as the other hiked her leg up and over his hip, splaying her open for him.

"Yer gonna feel pressure when I get through yer hymen. Don't worry about that, okay? N' then it'll start to feel better."

* * *

This was happening. It was going to hurt. He was mad at her. She was so scared.

"Okay."

She gave a single deliberate nod at his curt breakdown, too proud to keep begging him for a softness that wouldn't come. It was only going to be for a moment and then it would get better, just like he said. Like when she got her ears pierced.

He positioned himself, something in her chest panged painfully, and she held her breath in anticipation, eyes squeezed shut.

_Only for a moment._

* * *

The closer they got to the main event, the more his anger melted away. She was scared. He hated seeing her scared in ways that he didn't want her to be. So he slowly held her close and kissed her, far more gentle than he'd been only moments before. The last thing he wanted was for her to be too afraid to fuck again.

"Take a deep breath, love… I'm here…"

He kissed her as he pushed inside, trying to distract in any way he could from the rude shoving of his cock in and past her carefully maintained barrier. He moaned into her lips, the hand on her thigh tightening with the effort to go slow. He didn't want her too beat up.

* * *

Lydia could feel distinctly when it happened. At first, he was just pressing into her, pushing, but not really going anywhere. It was uncomfortable and for a moment she worried that something was wrong, but then a jolt of strength pushed his hips to lunge forward, breaking something inside of her so that he could sink deep and snug in her tight channel.

Her jaw dropped in a silent scream into his kiss. Short, weak nails dug in hard to his shoulders, each muscle going tense in resistance. It hurt so much more than she thought it would. Her chest heaved with deep breaths and she buried her face in his neck, seeking comfort and relief from the distress he was causing.

"I love you," she repeated for him with labored breath, legs clasped tight around his hips to try and force him still. He had the potential to do her great damage at this moment if he so chose. All she could do was hang on from beneath him and put faith in that he loved her too.

* * *

"I love you too, kitten… daddy's got ya."

He kissed her head and cheek, anything he could reach with her curled into him as she was. His hand rubbed gently up and down the back of one thigh, trying to soothe her somewhat.

"You feel so good, baby. Just relax for me, huh?"

One hand crept between them to rub her clit gently, pinching and pressing to try and encourage her to get just that little bit more aroused.

"Lyds? Talk to me… how ya feelin'? Is it too much for tonight?"

* * *

"Not too much…"

She shook her head, breathing deep to force herself to relax for him.

"I just…" she panted, sweating already from the exertion of her body making room for him. "Want to be _perfect_ for you…"

His sneaky fingers meddled down below, manipulating her clit until her clenching insides parted just enough to let him sink that much deeper, throwing her breaths higher.

"You're so _big…_ " They'd come too far to stop now over a little petty discomfort. "I can do it, Daddy. I can. Just need a minute…"

* * *

He smiled softly at her insistence, rubbing her in slow, purposeful circles. She really was a good girl, and he told her so, kissing her where he could while she took the time to adjust.

Still. She'd tried to run away… _to leave him_. He couldn't allow that. She had overstepped. He'd have to remind her exactly who she belonged to. Slowly, he shifted his hips, rocking his cock in minuscule movements inside of her. She was so _tight_. Not a surprise considering how tiny she was, but it didn't help that he was above average himself.

"Easy, babes… just relax n' let me in. Yer _mine…_. yer body knows that. You do too, don't ya?"

* * *

"I– know–"

The more he rocked, the more her speech faltered, breath forced out with each little shove of his heavy hips. Never before stimulated nerve-ending were coming alive, hot internal tendons squeezing and pulsating to complement his shallow, careful rhythm. Slowly, that initial burst of white-hot pain evolved into a different kind of burn, one Lydia was somewhat more familiar with.

Crushed beneath him as she was, it was a feeble attempt she gave when her body finally began to fall into line and dance with his in return.

"Mmf," she keened, writhing like a pinned butterfly when he sunk deep and the meaty base of his cock stretched her wide open. "It's… so much! _Fuck!_ I need– _faster!"_

* * *

He grinned as she slowly built up to squirming beneath him. As she had learned, he rarely gave in to requests that came from the bedroom. Her soft pleading for more fell on deaf ears. He stared down at her, pushing himself up on one arm to be able to see her from her face down to where his round gut pressed against her soft, thin stomach.

"Faster? Hmm… maybe I wanna take my time. Maybe I'd rather go nice n' slow n' keep ya like this for good."

He grinned, leaning down to nip at her lips.

"Who do you belong to, Lydia? Who takes care of ya like ya need? Tell me…"

"You do," she gave up without need of further cajoling, perfectly happy to sing his praise. "You're always so good to me, Daddy…"

Her arms were lax and still, thrown above her head in a position of total submission, head turning from side to side on her pillow as she squirmed through the violation of her person. She needed him to _move_.

"You treat me so nice… make me feel so _good…_ "

In stubborn pursuit of relief, she grunted and bucked hard, forcing him that much deeper from where he was infuriatingly still inside of her.

"Please… _please_ fuck me… I'm sorry I left… Don't be mad at me, Daddy…"

* * *

How was he meant to deny her when she begged so sweetly? He growled softly when her hips bucked up into his, his hand leaving her clit to grip her hip tightly.

"Ya want me t'fuck ya? You got it."

Without much more preamble, he started to move. It was slow going at first, just because she was so tight, but he kept at it with smooth, steady thrusts. Soon, he was thrusting into her firmly, sliding into her from head to base again and again as he lost himself in the sweet, slick slide of _finally_ having her.

"So good, baby… _fuck_. Never leave me again… ya got that? Yer _mine!"_

* * *

"Yes!"

Lydia was lost in sweet, blissful agony, crying out her pleasure every time he rolled back into her hard and deep with thrusts that took their time savoring the tight pull of her cunt.

The discomfort never really went away. Lydia just learned how to like it.

She couldn't imagine ever being with someone who wasn't him, who wouldn't envelop her completely the way he did. His motions were so strong and confident. All Lydia had to do was lay back and relax like a good girl, the way he'd told her to so that he could use his grip on her hips to pull her small body in to meet his thrusts.

"Never again," she agreed deliriously, brokenly, barely able to piece sentences together. "Never… ever… just you… only yours… make me yours…"

* * *

He was obsessed. He had known that Lydia was addictive, but he'd never anticipated what finally getting inside her would do to him. At her request, he started to pick up his pace, thrusting into her just on the edge of too hard. He couldn't look away, her face contorted in painful pleasure just the way he'd always dreamed.

"Fuck… You're all mine. Don't gotta make ya mine, ya already were…"

He grinned and ran his hand up to squeeze her tits firmly.

"You like it, don't ya baby? God, yeah you do... _look at ya…_. tell me how it feels to take daddy's cock, kitten…"

* * *

"Like… heaven…"

The syllables puffed past her kiss-swollen lips with breathy, euphoric intonation. She felt like a beautiful, cherished little doll meant solely for his pleasure, her only use to be impaled by his mighty form until her body had performed its due diligence to capture his seed.

When he released her hip to use her tits as reigns instead, she hiked her thighs up higher on his waist for better purchase. The motion constricted her insides, brought him to depths within her that ached so good. She couldn't possibly take any more of him, and yet _take it_ she did, not a word or sound of complaint to be had.

This was the only lovemaking Lydia ever wanted to know. She had no desire to know what it might be like to be had by a smaller, gentler, more forgiving man. All she wanted was her Daddy.

"Big," she repeated in a pant, continuing to give him the description he was asking for. "Full… _hurts…_ good! Don't stop…"

* * *

He liked her like this. She was pliant and euphoric in the way she obediently answered his questions through the haze of their lovemaking. He couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Hurts good, huh? That's perfect, baby…"

He kissed her firmly, speeding up the pace of his hips, the room filled with the sound of his cold, clammy skin meeting her soft and slick thighs. He wanted it on record to play when he got down.

"So beautiful… yer perfect, Lyds… go ahead n' cum for me when yer ready… fuck, I ain't gonna last long with ya so tight around me…"

* * *

As soon as he gave the order, it became her only true desire and ambition in life.

"Yesss…" she hissed her agreement, arching beneath him, smoothing her palms over his collar, and then down his biceps, more cut and defined when strained with the effort of pounding into her relentlessly.

"I will… I'll do it… I can do it… I'll cum for you, Daddy…"

Finding a burst of energy hidden somewhere deep and private within, she undulated back up against him just as he drove down. The brutal force of their joining sent her dancing off the edge into a pit of fire, sobbing tears of happiness to her untimely demise.

* * *

He was surprised at her sudden, eager pursuit of orgasm, but he shouldn't have been. He gave her an order, and his girl was nothing if not eager to please. He matched her frantic, rocking thrusts with those of his own, his hand abandoning her soft chest to take purchase on her hips again, pulling them up and onto his own.

"Fuck! You're so good, baby… my perfect little wife…"

As she careened off the edge into orgasm, he was just behind her, thrusting through his peak like an animal. He pushed deep and grunted, his face screwed into an odd expression from his climax. When he was finished, he rolled away from her, gently extracting the girth they so carefully fit into her with the same consideration.

"Fuck! Lyds… happy birthday to you and a big baby _goddamn_ for me." He chuckled and pulled her into his chest, kissing her soundly

* * *

Despite his gentility, she let loose a soft hiss as the quickly deflating but still enlarged head of his cock popped free from her vacuous, abused muscles. A residual pulse of pleasure reverberated from her middle and she quickly forgot all about it.

"That was amazing…" she breathed in agreement, strewn across his chest bonelessly. She'd yet to notice, but there was now a small crimson stain at the point of their joining marring her pristine crushed velvet bedding.

Stifling a sleepy yawn, as she wasn't done enjoying either her party or her husband yet, Lydia inched up his chest until her lips could land sweet and wanting on his, seducing his cold tongue into a heated tangle.

"Can we do it again?"

He'd created a monster.

* * *

He chuckled at her sweet request, returning her kiss quite happily. She was soft and warm against him, still damp with sweat from their little romp.

"Absolutely we can… but not tonight."

He nuzzled his nose against hers, smiling into her lips.

"Come on. Let's clean ya up and get ya back to your party. There's a chocolate fountain with your name on it. Literally."

He summoned soft, damp cloth and set about removing the evidence of their union, the cloth coming away pink. He kissed her firmly before leaving the bed and getting dressed again, his usual stripes replacing his "prince" getup.

A soft white nightgown was pulled from her wardrobe and slipped over her head, a soft smile on his face. She was still wearing the jewels he'd given her, so he put the tiara back as well.

"Ready, Princess?"

* * *

"Ready."

Her legs felt like jelly, soft inner thighs blushing violet from where he'd surged against her like a battering ram. Lazy arms reached out to him in an indication that she would like to be carried and, of course, he obliged.

Like Clara and the Rat King victorious, he carried his bruised and battered princess back to her party. Things had calmed. About half of the partygoers had gone home and the lights had dimmed, but music still played and people still danced.

There weren't any spotlights or heads turning to highlight their entrance like before. They swept in through the sleepily waltzing crowd and were immediately immersed and accepted. The buffet table was completely untouched as if the bounty of mortal food it carried was meant solely for her.

Lydia let herself be enchanted by the late-night magic, the way he breezed her through the room, occasionally twirling with the swing of the tune to give her a headrush‒ dancing with her the only way he could at the moment.

"It's almost midnight," she commented dreamily as he whirled her slowly past an ornate grandfather clock, a decadent cupcake with buttercream frosting in her hands. "You said it doesn't end at midnight. Right?"

* * *

He happily kept her in her arms, sweeping her through the ballroom and chatting with their guests as she half dozed in his arms, picking at sweets and gazing around her as though high on some unknown substance.

"Doesn't end at midnight, baby. Ends when we're done. And I ain't done yet."

He smiled and kissed her gently, finally setting her on her feet so that he could press her against him from chest to knee.

"Is this evenin' what ya wanted now, kitten? I know we had some speed bumps, but… ya know I love ya…"

* * *

She only very loosely supported herself once he put her back on her feet, leaning heavily against him while they swayed, licking icing and crumbs from her fingers.

"Mmhmm," she nodded the affirmative, cheek pressed to his chest. "This is perfect…"

The Prince was MIA. Since the big show, no one else had worked up the audacity to request a dance from Betelgeuse's sleepy, deflowered bride. It was obvious to the spirits in attendance what had been done to her, but she was sweet and young and this was her party. Teasing was unwarranted and unwelcome.

"We should throw balls every weekend. Just because. Dance and dance and dance until we can't anymore. That would be fun…"

* * *

He found himself strangely grateful for the people still gathered. She was clearly not up for real socializing and their guests seemed to understand that.

He chuckled at her suggestion for weekly parties, running a hand through her hair gently.

"I don't know if we should do it every weekend. That's a lot of partying, Princess."

He kissed her and rubbed her back, keeping her close. He had a strange kind of contradicting emotion. On one hand, the night had been full of anger and fear. On the other, pleasure and splendor had dulled the sharp edges to something blurry and bright.

"Babes, you wanna meet my friend Jacques? He's a skeleton. I think you'll like him."

Jacques and Ginger were easy enough. Simple conversation that he could let Lydia float through while he thought the thoughts that were pushing at his brain.

* * *

It was probably time to get used to her feet again. Still, she leaned heavily against him and brought her hand up to her mouth at the suggestion of meeting his friend, biting at the tip of her thumb in a nervous tick.

"Is he a _nice_ skeleton…? The Prince was a gentleman… but I don't think he was very nice."

It was just a feeling. She didn't have anything concrete to back it up, but the thought ruminated regardless. If Betelgeuse was offering to introduce them, rather than this skeleton rudely intruding and guilting her into a dance, then everything was probably just fine.

"I've never talked to a skeleton before."

Jacques was indeed a nice skeleton. He had a heavy French accent, a pencil-thin mustache that Lydia was pretty sure was drawn on, and a spider-girlfriend named Ginger that Lydia simply adored. Together they kept her entertained until she fell asleep in his arms. Even then, he continued to carry her, whirling her through the quickly dispersing crowd until one by one they all went home and the castle was theirs again.


	10. Chapter 10

Life returned to exactly as it was before the ball. He was even more affectionate, in fact. For three mornings in a row, rather than making her travel to the table in the corner so far, far away from the warm, cozy bed, he served her breakfast in the sheets while she layed about like a precious thing meant for spoiling and fattening.

She couldn't remember the last time she washed her own hair. He shampooed and conditioned it for her whenever it was in need. More than that, he tended to everything else too; rubbing every inch of her down with a sugary scrub that sloughed away dead skin, drying her delicately once it was time to get out, then fashioning her damp hair into braids so it would dry wavy the way he liked.

Lastly, he would have her lie out nude on the bed so he could massage her neck to toe with a divine smelling skin balm that made her flesh oh-so-soft to the touch. He would then make her turn over and do her backside as well, always with the most disciplined, evenly weighted strokes.

But then, when she would embrace him after and try to entangle him in kisses, pull him further down the burning path he stoked, he would stop. Dress her as he liked, tell her he loved her, and then pull her into bed with him to sleep without any sex whatsoever.

Every single night. For a week.

Lydia was ready to sob. The bath was almost over. Rather than a pile of mush in his hands, Betelgeuse found his bride wide-eyed and skittish, gaze flickering from her own nude body, to him, to the bed, and then back to herself over and over‒ as if she couldn't quite figure out which of these things was failing her.

Tonight she would seduce him. Put more effort into it. He loved her. He wanted her.

Didn't he?

"I'm ready to get out," she gulped, hating the way her voice wavered. Why did she sound like she was lying? Doing something wrong? It wasn't fair.

* * *

He glanced at her as he scrubbed away the last of her imaginary grime. She was getting more anxious by the second, it seemed. It was just as well.

_She shouldn't have tried to run._

It occurred to him while whirling through the ballroom with her safely tucked into his arms that she enjoyed the loss of her virtue more than he thought she would. She made it clear over the following week that she would like a repeat performance, but he played dumb. The longer they went the more desperate—and therefore more apologetic— she became. He knew that it was at the back of her mind.

He had successfully made sex a treat and by withholding was punishing her for her transgressions. When she announced that she was done, he patted her cheek.

"Let me just go n' get yer nightgown then…"

* * *

Heart pounding at what she was about to attempt, she was stiff and difficult for him to get out of the tub, not purposefully. All she wanted was to be good for him. She stalled up until the very last possible moment when he instructed her to lift her arms above her head for her nightgown.

She didn't immediately listen. _Defiance_.

Quickly, before he could misinterpret her disobedience, her hand flew out, clumsily landing on the horribly, cringingly soft cock beneath his trousers. Her hand shook. It was all she could do not to yank it back and make a run for it, try her chances in the tunnels again.

That was a stupid thought and she hated herself for it, wincing while she forced out the line that had been ringing through her head for several nights now;

"I… don't th-think I _need_ a nightgown…"

* * *

He raised an eyebrow at her bold advance, biting back the chuckle that threatened to leave him at her attempts at seduction. It was cute, really. She was trying so hard…

"Now, why do ya think that sweetness? Won't you get cold without it?"

He shook the garment and it became a pair of soft, plush pajamas. He was going to make her work for this. If she really wanted it, she would have to beg for it.

"Tell me why you don't need your PJs, baby…"

He smirked, stepping closer to her, eyes raking over her bare form, his tongue slipping out to run over his lips.

* * *

_Oh God._ None of her fantasies ever made it this far. He was always happy to oblige, taking the hand on his cock for what it was the way any man would. What was she supposed to say _now?_ Her wrist crippled, unable to continue holding him or discern how long she actually had. It certainly felt like a long time.

How long had she gone without speaking now?

"I'm not‒ I don't‒"

Her tongue wouldn't cooperate. Emotion bubbled up her throat. Her knees knocked together, the cold harassing her in a cruel twist as she stood there wet and embarrassed, denying herself clothing. Was she being a slut? Did he not enjoy himself the last time they were together? Is that why he wasn't interested?

"I wanted… I thought you would _too…_ "

Her chin dipped down to ineffectively hide her crumpling face, too many mean thoughts now intruding for her to make it through even this pathetic attempt at seduction. _Perfectly worthless._

"Nevermind."

* * *

"No, no… babes…"

He dropped the clothing, abandoning them easily. He told her before he didn't mind if she walked around in the buff all the time. Reaching out, he pulled her into his arms.

"Kitten… I'm glad ya wanna… do that again, but I just…"

Time to put on the juice. He was nothing if not an actor. Every conman worth his salt had to be. He made a show of looking down at his feet, then back up into her eyes, his own wide and pitiful.

"I thought that maybe I'd pushed ya too far, before. Was too quick t'put ya under me…" Squeezing her biceps, he sighed pathetically. "Thought that mighta been why ya tired to run away. I want ya here with me, even if we never fuck again…"

His gaze hardened, the look intense.

"You don't wanna leave me, do ya?"

* * *

As soon as he turned those big green eyes on her, she was mush for him. Those tears that had pushed and threatened for so long finally had their way, spilling hot down her cheeks when he squeezed her, staring down at her like he wanted to eat her alive.

_You don't wanna leave me, do ya?_

"Never," she promised, horrified by the very prospect. Her hands tightened in his suit to drive the point home, ground him there with her in case he had a mind to float away.

"I _love_ when you touch me," she confessed, made bold again by his show of "vulnerability."

"You're so _good_. Even when it hurts, I just want more‒"

That was probably an odd thing to say. Her breath was quickening, and she became achingly aware of her nipples hard and tight against his rough, dirty suit. Tears slowing, she held him ever closer, straining up on her tiptoes to get nearer to his face.

"I like it so much… I ran away because I thought you wanted to give it to someone else… and that would _kill_ me, Daddy."

* * *

He frowned, putting on an impassioned face even as the tiny, perverted part of him wrung its hands excitedly. His plan seemed to have worked perfectly.

"Oh, princess…. daddy never wanted to give it to someone else. You're the only girl for me… but…"

He sighed dramatically, rubbing his hand down to hold her ass and pull her flush against him.

"Ya know you really worried me… n' dancin' with the prince before I even got to finish with ya… well. That hurt daddy's feelings…"

He picked her up and headed for the bed, ready to reward her for her clear regret. He set her on the edge of the bed and kissed her firmly.

"Promise me that I'm your only guy? You don't want no one but me, do ya?"

* * *

"I promise," she nodded eagerly, residual tears falling from her pink cheeks to her snowy little breasts. "I'll never dance with anyone else ever, ever again! I'm so sorry, I'm so, so _so_ sorry, please forgive me…"

How awful of a wife was she that she could have hurt him in such a way? This was all her fault, really. Why didn't she tell the Prince to buzz off? After he put so much work into her birthday? And then to run away and make him worry about her?

She was the worst.

"Tell me what to do," she begged, clutching him to her desperately, already writhing against him practically. "I want to make everything better. I'm all yours, I promise! You can do whatever you want to me, anything at all. I'll do _anything_ for you. I just want to be with you…"

* * *

He let her cry just a little longer before kissing her roughly and hauling her up onto the bed further. She seemed sufficiently sorry. Maybe it was time to let her have her fun. He turned to lay flat on his back, pulling her up and onto his chest so he could kiss and grope at her the way he wanted to. She was soft from her bath, warm and still damp where his hand caressed down her back.

"I want you tup top this time, kitten. You show daddy just how sorry you are."

He chuckled softly and stretched his arms over his head. It would be interesting to see what she did.

"You've watched porn, ain't ya? Go on n' show me what you've learned."

* * *

For a moment, Lydia was thrown back to their first night together in the honeymoon suite, when he first offered her the freedom of choice; anything she wanted to eat. The buffet was still open. The prospect of partaking was just as scary and confusing now as it was then.

"Okay…" she sat up in preparation, excited and nervous and hot to the touch. It would be okay. He would like it. Even if she messed up, he would show her how to do it right. Everything was fine. _Deep breath._

What would he do if he was trying to make her feel good? Well, first he would need her naked. Reverently almost, putting care into every step, she set about undressing him. Each revealed piece of mottled, violet flesh was blessed with a kiss. She started with his jacket, then took an aching amount of time to unloop his tie and unbutton his shirt, warm lingering kisses burning a trail all the way.

Was she moving too slowly? The thick bulge jutting into her tummy certainly thought so. She only got his pants as far down as the knee before kissing a trail back up to his groin.

"I love you," she whispered against his cock, daring eye contact finally. He hadn't said a word since giving her the order and it was making her nervous all over again.

"Is this okay?"

* * *

He pet her hair gently, smiling down at her as she gently unclothed and explored him. She was shy and sweet like this, as eager to please as ever and soft in the way she touched him. With his pants around his knees it was easy to kick them away, allowing him to spread his legs and give his little wife room to work. The sweet admission of love spoken against his cock made the organ jump excitedly, jerking up to slide against her cheek.

"That's perfect, baby… ya feel so fuckin' good…"

He smiled somewhat sweetly, still wanting her to see this as a special treat. If she got to nervous, he would drop it and take control, but as it was he wanted her to do what she could to please him.

"Go ahead, kitten… just like daddy taught ya, huh?"

* * *

Lydia could count on one hand how many times she had gone down on him. He certainly had her beat as far as numbers were concerned. It was commonplace for his face to be stuffed between her thighs.

Not for the past week, however.

It was special to be permitted and encouraged to service him like this. He got to show her how good and talented he was with his mouth all the time, while she seldom got to give her jaw a stretch and learn herself on his body. Committed to perfecting herself for him, she didn't spare a second at his encouragement before swallowing down as much as she could at once.

It wasn't much. Her mouth wasn't wet enough, wrought dry from arousal. Regardless, she kept at it with adamant dedication, suckling until the exquisite flavor of his precum made her moan and salivate, rock him closer toward the tight enclosure of her throat.

* * *

At least she was trying. She had only improved somewhat since the last time they tried this, but she was certainly eager.

Enthusiasm was worth something.

He tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her down, rocking his hips steadily as she bobbed her head over him as best she could. He could tell this was yet to be a comfortable act for her, but she was a good girl and never piped up a word of complaint.

"That's nice, kitten… ya feel great around me. Just relax that little throat and lemme in…"

* * *

Helplessly, she whined once he locked her in with that heavy hand right on top of her head, grimy claws threading through her needlessly wet tresses. For the briefest moment, she protested, pushing back against his hold until the fear struck that he might end their tryst all together if she did.

Her nostrils flared and she blinked back tears brought upon by her gag reflex. _She could do better._ Determined not to let them both down, she swallowed back the worst of the discomfort, breathing deeply through her nose. Her aching jaw stretched wider and silken lips slid further down toward the impossible mass of the base of his cock.

Once there, she stayed there a moment just to breathe and process the work she had done. A rebellious tear escaped the cage of her long lashes, rolling down her cheek, lips, and finally meeting his pulsating cock.

Now, to do it all over again.

* * *

He cursed as his bulbous head popped past the resistance of her gag reflex and sank deeper into her throat. Their time apart had been hard on him too, and he was quickly reaching a peak he wasn't ready to scale. He pulled her back as she gasped for breath, pretty cinnamon eyes watering as though he punched her.

In a way, he supposed he had.

He ran his hand through her hair and kissed her roughly, biting at her lips playfully.

"Gettin' real good at that, kitten. But I think we both know it's time to move this along, huh?"

* * *

When he pulled her away from servicing him after only scant few minutes of progress, Lydia immediately worried that she had done something wrong. What if she messed up somehow and he didn't want her to try ever again? This could be the last opportunity she ever got to please her husband before he gave up on her completely.

"I can do better," she insisted with wet eyes, a facet of panic coloring her tone. "Was it bad? I didn't mean to gag. It was an accident, please–!"

She couldn't take another week like this one; subjected to his perfect, tortuous love while remaining disallowed an outlet to return it.

"Just– just let me _try_. I promise I can be a good wife…"

* * *

He frowned, confused slightly by her frantic request to keep trying. Maybe he'd gone too far, or too long on this punishment. She seemed to be in tears just from him redirecting her attention. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek gently, then pulled at her lower lip down as he considered her, his head tipped to the side.

"I know you can, kitten… yer gonna be the best wife in the world... but yer gonna _listen_ from here on in, aren't ya?"

He smirked softly and patted her cheek, then pulled her up into his lap, sliding a hand between her thighs to tease over her slit.

"Now. Let's move this along like I said, my good girl…."

* * *

"Uh-huh."

She nodded up and down robotically with glistening eyes, committed to pleasing him. In that moment, he could have told her to jump off a bridge and join him in death and she would have agreed without question. Without further complaint or fuss, she _listened_ , falling into place above him as he situated her.

She belonged here with him. Their fit wasn't perfect, not like normal princesses and their princes, but who wanted to be normal anyway? A sharp gasp parted slick lips as she shimmied down, forcing the thick head and a little more in. Gravity was slowly pulling her down, finding resistance in her stubbornly squeezing internal tendons.

Unfettered by the short bites of discomfort, she continued to gasp and rock, working her way down inch by delicious inch.

* * *

He slowly guided her down until their thighs met, an animalistic growl leaving him. It had been torture to him as well to keep from taking her on every surface of the castle. Clearly, it had been worth it. He pulled her down to kiss her roughly, his hands tangling in her long dark locks.

"Goddamn, I am never gonna get tired of this… ya feel so good, Lyds…"

He ran his hands down to grip her hips, rocking up into her slowly at first, then faster, almost punishing.

* * *

Once he got going, her priorities shifted from showing how well she could work him‒ or try‒ to holding on for the ride. It was different with her on top, though she wasn't anymore in control here than she was beneath him. With weighty lunges and masculine grunts accompanying, he pulled her down on to him at the same time that he pounded up, over and over again, the intensity of it rendering her beyond comprehensive speech.

"Beej!‒" she shrieked his cutesy nickname on a sweetly painful downward slam, scratching viciously down his back and arching as if for escape, only to whimper and go limp.

It was better this way. When it was time for her to work again, he would let her know. For now, her only job was to take it.

* * *

She was sweet and dutiful in the way she went pliant and soft in his bruising, firm grip. He'd trained her well, it seemed, even with only one run under their belts. It was just as well. If she was good, he wouldn't have to be mean again. Though he did like to be a little cruel.

She whimpered and sighed somewhere close to his ear, though he couldn't be bothered to locate her face. He was too preoccupied with watching his cock slide in and out of her tight cunt.

"That's it, baby… good girl… fuck!"

* * *

_Good girl._ It felt like it had been ages since he called her that. DIdn't she dislike it once upon a time? Why ever would she have? Currently, the patronizing praise provided her with nothing but a deep sense of contentment and an inextinguishable glow of warmth.

All was well. He was pleased. More than pleased, he was _pleasured_. Any insecurity and fear left in her fled, crumbling as the ferocity of their rut plateaued. Of course he wanted her. How could she have thought anything less with how completely he claimed her; every part of her open and bleeding and prime for devouring.

When the floodgates finally burst, it was just as violent and intense as the dance that brought her there. He fucked her right through it, never breaking form or pausing, too busy chasing his own peak to stop and appreciate hers. It was the sweetest torture.

"Bee‒!" She cried out as he continued to pull her down onto him through the unceasing waves of euphoria. It was too good. Too much, too fast, too hard. He was going to break her.

"I can't," she pled brokenly, unsure what she was even asking for as wetness leaked from her eyes. "I can't! Please!"

* * *

He barely realized she reached her highest point, and certainly didn't notice the moment she fell over it. The only clues he was given were the tightening of her walls around him and the heightened pitch of her moans. He chased his end viciously, thrusting up into her with only one goal in mind.

He had missed this almost as much as she had, though unlike her he knew they would come back to it of course. He'd had no doubt she would come crawling back for more. It didn't take long until he worked her through her first orgasm and straight into a second, his own following close on its heels. His thrusts became less steady, more frantic as he tipped his head back into the pillows with a growl.

"Fuck! Lydia!"

He gripped her punishingly tight, one hand on her ass and the other just above her hip where he'd been guiding her in their tryst. Now, all he could do was hold on and pant as he slowly faded out of the frenzy of their joint climax.

* * *

So, so slowly, like a cobra releasing its asphyxiated victim, his painful grip coaxed away until his hands were loose and lax over her, revealing the dark, finger-shaped bruises left behind. She crumpled over him as he deflated, cock still hard and pulsating inside of her. Her heart pounded inbetween them and Lydia was acutely aware of it, as well as her labored breaths in contrast to his body's telling stillness.

From the waist down, she was raw and tender, aching in secret places she'd been yearning to feel since last he stretched her open. Unlike their last time, Lydia didn't have any sweet curious requests for _more_. No, he had filled her quota to the brim. Something inside of her had torn just a bit, adding a tinge of pink to the combined fluid leaking from their joining point.

Lydia didn't have any complaints. This was bliss, the perfect completion and togetherness she wanted from him. How wonderful and generous he was to deliver despite her cruel, ungrateful behavior. She didn't deserve him. He should have let her run away that night so she could never hurt him again.

"Do you still love me…?"

* * *

Love? Not a concept he gave much weight. All his life, living and after, he'd let the women he used make whatever assumptions they wanted to.

Speaking of love was uncomfortable. Didn't she hear him last time? Of course, it was true… he loved Lydia in a way he'd never had to deal with before. So much so that the words nearly escaped his lips again.

"Course, yer my babes…My wife…My baby girl…. why ya even askin' me?"

Her search for his affection cut their afterglow somewhat short, Betelgeuse immediately uncomfortable at the topic of feelings.

"That was a great fuck, Lyds, really… ya did perfect."

* * *

He didn't like that. She would never ask again, then. It wasn't necessary, really. She may as well have asked him what color the sky was.

_Why ya even askin' me?_

"I don't know… Just dumb I guess…"

There wasn't any genuine insecurity or discomfort in her lazy, fuzzy reply. It was simply an obligatory answer to a question from Daddy. If he wanted a real answer, she would put more thought into it and try harder. Vulgar as the praise that followed was, Lydia was nonplussed. He meant it with love and she could only revel in that she had been able to make him so happy.

"I barely did anything," she still brushed it off, doubting the existence of any skill on her part. "I'll get better. I promise. I want to be able to make you all sleepy and weak. You're cute like that."

"Cute" was certainly an improvement from "not ugly."

* * *

He made a show of pretending to gag, rolling her over and off of him to playfully collapse on top of her, careful not to squish her too badly.

"Cute? Ugh! Come on, babes! I got a rep to maintain here!"

He rolled over to lay beside her, pulling her close to his side with a chuckle.

" 'f anyone's cute here it's my girl… I mean look at her!"

He tickled her gently, quickly backing off in the face of her exhaustion. He was quite pleased with himself. He had a properly trained and eager wife, a home they could share indefinitely and, as he was reminded by a tiny whine, a couple of pets to appease his father complex.

The afterlife was good.

Almost too good.

Surely the other shoe would kick him in the ass any day.


	11. Chapter 11

A violent churning in her belly paired with uncomfortable slick stickiness between her thighs rudely woke Lydia from the embrace of sleep. It took her a moment to fully come to and realize what had happened, but once her fingers returned painted bright crimson from between her legs, she flew to an upright position, horrified at the sight that met her.

_Oh no._

Her period had come, and after so long without consistent, balanced nutrition, it came with a vengeance. The soft, beautiful pure white bedding she loved so much was tainted now. _Dirty_. A guilty bloodstain blossomed out on the covers from where she was leaking. With shaking hands, she dared peak beneath the blanket only to muffle a cry of anguish at the warzone down there.

She froze. Betelgeuse was still snoring beside her. Helpless tears pricked at her eyes while she trembled and panicked. He couldn't see this. She couldn't hide this. A cramp twisted her insides, pulling a pained groan up her throat, and the tears finally fell past her lashes, streaming fat and fast down her cheeks. She pulled her hair, biting her lip until skin broke, anything to distract and keep from crying out in anguish.

He was going to be so _mad_.

* * *

With his wife startling awake, Betelgeuse snorted and sat up to respond to the perceived threat, ready to fight off any attacker at a moment's notice.

"Wha‒? 'S wrong, kitten…?"

He reached out to rub her back, his mind still muddled with sleep and the rigor mortis that had begun to set in as he rested. It took him a long moment to realize exactly what had gone wrong. Blazing red against their soft white sheets, the evidence of her distress suddenly became clear to her sleepy husband and all traces of his rest disappeared. His eyes went wide, darting between the deep red bloodstain and his wife.

He had never seen so much blood come from a woman unless she was seriously, seriously ill. Was she hurt? Had he damaged her somehow in the course of their lovemaking? He was panicked, swiftly pulling her out of bed and across the room where he dropped to his knees to investigate.

"Fuck‒ Lyds, what happened? Yer bleedin'… Oh God, yer bleedin'… don't worry baby, I'll go get a doctor!"

She was clearly upset, and the sight of her pretty plush lip torn to shreds ‒ he assumed from biting back pain and nothing else‒ sent him into a frantic course of action. Get human-looking. Get a doctor. Pray to God his young, beautiful wife survived whatever was afflicting her.

* * *

Having expected fury or disgust from her wonderful husband, all this blustering worry was both a shock and relief to Lydia. Before she could blink, he had her on her feet, bare naked, holding her in place by her hips while he knelt and shoved his face close to the blood-soaked crux of her thighs.

Didn't he care about the soiled sheets on his beloved grandmother's bed? Wasn't she in trouble?

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stuttered through frazzled tears, squirming through his firm grip, unable to watch as he scrutinized her. "I didn't‒ didn't mean to‒ to‒ I just haven't had it in such a long time, I forgot about it and…"

Doctor? Did he say Doctor?

"Don't take me to the doctor!" She begged with sudden urgency, horrified at the prospect. "I'm fine! They can't do anything! It's just my period." Her voice shrunk with shame there. "I'll wash the sheets. I'm so sorry, Beej, please don't be upset!"

* * *

Upset? Why on earth or under it would he be upset with her? Did he say she'd experienced this before? How could she have? There was so much blood, he was sure she was going to pass out at any moment.

"What? Babes, _fuck_ the sheets! Yer bleedin'! What kinda asshole ya take me for?"

Once satisfied that the flow of blood seemed to have stopped for the moment, he scooped her back into his arms and made for a warm bath.

"Ya said ya did this before… how'd ya make it stop? Whaddya need, Lyds? Just tell me n' I'll get it for ya!"

For once, he found himself woefully unprepared. He had never so much as heard a woman talk about their cycle, except maybe in passing. In his day, a woman would have taken to bed for a few days with a headache and then returned to the parlor for tea right as rain. He never even pondered the thought of so much….

"Does it hurt?"

* * *

"Uh-huh," she nodded up and down her pathetic concession to pain, sniffling and puffy-eyed like a child waiting for mommy to kiss their scraped knee. "Like knives in my belly. Like all my insides want _out_. Hurts _bad_."

Given permission to actually feel her suffering, Lydia indulged, humiliated by the dramatic display and hurting.

"I can't make it stop. It just _does_. The first day is the worst. Should be better tomorrow. Won't stop for a couple days. Maybe longer, or less. I don't know. I haven't had it in so long, I don't know what's going to happen…"

Modern women only had it marginally better than women from his time as far as societal shame went. This was the most Lydia had ever discussed her cycle with a male person before, much less someone she was intimately entangled with. It was surreal and mortifying.

"I'm sorry," she conceded before once more falling into sobs, hating that her body was forcing him into having this cringey, embarrassing conversation. This wasn't his problem. It was a woman's trouble, none of his business.

* * *

He scowled at her soft, sorrowful confession of pain, rubbing his hand down her leg from hip to knee before standing up to kiss her gently. He hated seeing her in pain that wasn't caused by him on purpose. When they had slowly worked her through her hunger pains when she was recovering from her, he spent hours holding and comforting her, and he was more than ready to do it again.

With a wave of his hand, the sheets were clean of the deep scarlet that had stained it, a set of soft flannel pajamas that he hoped would keep her comfortable waiting on the bed for her for whenever she was ready to get out of the bath. She was all that mattered. Their whole magnificent castle could crumble and as long as she was safe and healthy, he wouldn't give two shits.

"My love, what do you need… I... ya want a cloth or somethin' for the blood? Painkillers? Tea? Just say the word, baby girl…"

* * *

"Tampons."

The answer came without thought, despite that Lydia had never used a tampon in her life. She was grown now, right? Adult. Who cared if she wasn't eighteen yet? Certainly not her husband. Tampons were what adult women with husbands and children and sex lives used. Besides, pads got gross so fast.

With the way he kept dominion over her body, aware of every little move it made… tampons were the more sensible choice.

"I guess it's a good thing I'm not pregnant."

Could she even? With him? Thinking about it made her head hurt along with her twisting abdomen.

* * *

Tampons. He could do that… there was a pharmacy in town. He would pop down and get them and come right back to make sure she was okay. What even were those? Surely, a pharmacist would know.

_I guess it's a good thing I'm not pregnant._

He looked up, surprised that she would even mention the thought of having children. Was that something that was on her mind? He wouldn't complain, though he hadn't entertained the thought since before his untimely demise.

"The fuck does this… this _bleedin'_ thing have to do with bein' pregnant? I mean… I guess it's the same bits, right?"

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I ain't ever heard o' this shit before… sure yer okay? Ya aren't gonna collapse while I'm gone gettin' yer tampies or whatever the hell they are?"

* * *

A sinking sensation pooled in her gut as he carried on like someone who had never seen a wellness or sex education course in their life. _He hadn't though, had he?_ From what little information Lydia had to garner about how things worked back when he was still breathing, the menstrual cycle was very much on the _hush hush_ as far as polite conversation was concerned.

He didn't have any reason to know what tampons were, much less the correlation between her bleeding and whether or not she was pregnant.

"Tampons," she corrected lightly, staring at him with curiosity. For so long she had envisioned him as near-omnipotent‒ an all-knowing, all-powerful being not to be trifled with over petty matters. For him to be so ignorant to something so common was almost endearing.

"I'm okay. I just‒ the mess. And hurt. I thought you might be mad. _I don't know, Beej."_ A vicious cramp twisted up her insides, pulling a pained whimper past her lips. She was far from equipped to teach him a lesson in sexual education.

"If I bleed, it means I'm not pregnant. If I don't, I am. That's just how it works. I don't have a better answer for you than that."

* * *

The wince seemed to send him reeling into action, scooping up Lydia from the tub and carrying her back to the newly cleaned bed to rest. In an instant, she was dried and dressed. He settled her in against the mound of pillows that seemed to have repopulated in the mere minutes that she was out of them.

"I see… make's sense."

It did not. He kissed her firmly and brushed a lock of long, soft hair away from her face. The pets seemed to sense their mistress' distress, whining at the edge of the bed. He happily pulled them up onto it, letting them cuddle in against Lydia while he psyched himself up.

With a quick promise that he would take care of everything, he vanished, reappearing in his long-favored mortal disguise to hurry into the pharmacy. A clerk was easily located, an older woman restocking shelves of canned food.

"Uh, Ma'am… can I ask ya a question?"

She looked up, her eyes narrowing at the sight of him. He quickly looked over himself to make sure his glamour was holding. It seemed to be. Maybe it was the accent, or that he was a stranger in a small foreign town. Yeah. Probably the accent.

"Whut c'n I help ya with, sir?"

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrung his hands. "Well, my… uh... My baby girl started her… Um… _you know_... this mornin' and I got no idea what to get her… She asked me for tampons, but she seems in pain and I dunno if I can give'r aspirin when she's bleedin' so bad…"

* * *

Oh, how absolutely _precious_. Yet another doting father out to help his daughter, though this one set himself apart from others. Mildred swooned at the way he spoke about his child, the extent that he was willing to go to ease her pain.

"Aren't you jus' the _sweetest!_ I've had fathers ask me fer help before, but they're usually so _cold_ n' _embarassed_ about it. Don't you worry, sonny, we'll get your girl right as rain. Just follow me."

The charmed elderly lady proceeded to lead him to the feminine hygiene aisle and point out the most reputable brand.

"I'm guessin' she's a tiny thing, aye? You'll be wantin' these then." She indicated the proper size and best brand when he nodded the affirmative dumbly, then took the initiative to place it in his cart. The poor man seemed overwhelmed by all the options at his disposal.

"Aspirin or ibuprofen are just fine. Midol is also effective. A good cup o' coffee'll do the trick in a pinch. Caffeine is the chief ingredient in Midol, after all. Lots o' carbs and chocolates oughta dry those tears, too. _Such a sweet father, you are._ I wish me own Da could have been more like you."

* * *

"Father. Right. Uh… yeah. Guess ya could say my girl's adopted. I ain't dealt with this before…"

He took her advice and set about picking out every snack, candy, and painkiller that his wife could possibly want. He wanted her happy and healthy and to stop bleeding as soon as possible.

With his haul secured, he thanked the woman and left the shop only to zap himself right back home to Lydia. She was still where he left her, curled in on herself and laying on her side. Tia and Percy were cuddled in close against her stomach, a living and breathing sort of hot water bottle. He had picked up one of those, too, having been told it may help.

"I'm back, kitten… how ya holdin' up?"

He sat beside her and brushed her hair out of her face with a soft smile. Even suffering through the pain and discomfort as she was, she was gorgeous.

"Brought everythin' the lady at the pharmacy recommended. Don't know what all ya needed..."

* * *

"I'm okay," she pouted, sounding not at all okay, but was pleased to see him and the bounty both though it didn't quite read on her expression. A tiny, barely-there smile was braved for his benefit as he pet her so sweetly and comfortingly, gone just as quickly as her midsection panged.

"Thank you." He brought so many candies and treats, Lydia didn't know where to begin. Tampons could wait. While he was gone, she had bothered to drag herself to the bathroom to snag a towel to thrust between her legs, and that would do for now.

"I've never had a…" Embarrassed by the thought that almost slipped past, she quickly edited herself. "Barbara used to take care of me. Before. Adam and my Dad just kind of… pretended not to notice. Or _didn't_ notice. One or the other, I couldn't really tell."

* * *

He scoffed. "How many times am I gonna have to tell ya that yer not with those dimwits anymore. Ya got a much better Daddy now, and he's gonna keep ya nice and comfy."

He smiled and kissed her cheek. He didn't like thinking about her father or Adam, and their wives weren't much better. Even with the four of them, they'd done an absolutely awful job of being her parents.

When he was a father, he would be much better. At least, he hoped so.

Wait… _When?_

He shook the thought off and pulled Lydia to sit on his knee, perching them both at the edge of the bed with a sigh.

"I'm sorry, kitten, I just love ya so much… yer too good for any man, let alone me. I'm just the lucky bastard who gets to keep ya to myself!"

* * *

"I don't want anyone else to keep me…"

No, she was good and hooked now. The unconditional love and care he afforded were addictive. There wasn't home or shelter out there that could possibly compare to what she had with him.

Still. Something rebellious inside of her recoiled at the way he spoke of her unfortunate, dearly departed parents. He didn't know them. They were only doing the best they could. _Where did he get off?_

This was a dangerous line of thinking. Lydia worked to smooth her face, fearful he might see her treasonous, distrustful thoughts.

"Come here babies," she distracted herself in her meowing, woofing children, pulling the furry little cramp deterrents up into her lap as she settled back cozily into her husband's. The furballs were very attached to each other and their odd parents.

"Mommy and Daddy love you _so much_. We'll love you forever and ever and ever and _ever_ …"

* * *

Betel wasn't quite sure how to respond when the annoyance crossed her face. Surely, she could realize that she deserved better than a couple stiffs, a high-strung stepmother, and a father who ignored her! Hadn't he shown her how much she could and _should_ have?

He watched her as she scooped up the little critters that shared their home, the furry monsters happily squirming in her hold. He was more than happy to wrap his arms around her waist and let Tia lick at his hand. She was a good dog… She was so young, and already she knew to ask outside when she needed it and came to her name. He scratched her ears gently.

"Ya know I just want ya to be happy here, right? I mean… I know I ain't yer real Dad or nothin'... but it's gotta be better here'n that hell hole with the Gallaghers."

* * *

"I _am_ happy."

The severe stress that flashed across her countenance at the notion that she might possibly have displeased him disagreed. That frown‒ so wrong on such a pale, sweet face‒ only deepened at the mention of the dreaded foster home.

"I don't want to leave! I promise! It's so much better here than it was there! They _hated_ me…"

Lydia lost count of how many times she found herself the target of the other kids. She was smaller, weaker, _different_. A prime subject for abuse.

"I tried for a while to make them like me. I cleaned, and tried to cook for everybody with what we had… but that just made them hate me more."

She snuggled the babies closer, hiding the pain of their violent rejection into black and chocolate furs.

"No pets. No food. No love. Nothing good. Always bad. Every day."

* * *

He pressed his lips to her neck, trying to coax her out of the ball she curled into. He hadn't meant to scare her really… Maybe a little. But their conversation brought to mind all the wonderful retribution he had in mind for her former foster family. He rubbed his hands over her thighs gently, still plying her neck with small kisses.

"Yer never gonna go back to that life, Lyds… You n' me are gonna live happily ever after for the rest of time. Promise."

He smiled and squeezed her gently.

"Hey… I got some errands to run. Might take me a couple o' days, but I'll be quick as I can. Can you be a good girl for me n' stay here? I won't leave till tomorrow, but I wanna know yer gonna be content here alone for a bit…."

* * *

He squeezed those big arms around his little family and they all conformed back into the shape of his embrace, each pet finding comfort in their savior's protection. Lydia's persistent frown stayed put at the announcement that he would be leaving.

"I'll be good."

The thought of ever possibly returning to that place had her despondent, wallowing in unpleasant memories. The cool, sweet kisses to her neck only helped so much, but she put on a brave face for him.

"I'll be okay. Read or play in the garden or go exploring…" He cut a _look_ and immediately she rushed to reassure him, shaking her head in disagreement at the very thought. "Don't worry! I won't leave the castle. _Promise._ "

* * *

He supposed he could accept the promise not to leave their home. He'd have to spend the rest of the day reminding her why she wanted to stay with him.

And he did just that. A picnic in the old churchyard, a long luxurious bath, and then a massage all before tucking her into bed and curling around her, kissing her cheek gently.

"Goodnight, beautiful. I'll see ya in the mornin' before I go, okay?"

They managed to sleep peacefully for a while, even Betel starting to doze in the warmth of their little family cuddle.

That is until Lydia started to whine in her sleep. The disturbed sound had him immediately sat upright, ready to comfort her.

* * *

The first week at the Ghallagers had been the worst. Still mourning parents whose cold, dead arms she had quite literally been ripped from, she spent every night weeping and in turn, was beaten mercilessly for it by the other girls who just wanted a good night's rest. It was a vicious cycle. Her pain reminded them of their own and was therefore intolerable.

By the end of her initiation, she learned how to crumble in the shadows without making a single sound.

She was dreaming of that first night now, of how scared she was, how confused and hurt; mentally, emotionally, physically. Tonya kicked her so hard she was _sure_ she broke a rib, but then someone yanked back on her long hair to open her face up for attack and all the ugliness started to meld together.

_"Please,"_ Lydia sobbed to the invisible attacker in the night, putting up a pathetic fight with her heavy blankets and disturbing her sleeping loves in the process. _"I'll be better… I can stop…_ _ **please**_ _stop…"_

* * *

Betel scowled at her muttered pleas, pulling the blankets that seemed to be bothering her away from her limbs and cuddling her into his arms with a kiss to her forehead. He had no idea what had her so upset, but he knew it had to be remedied immediately.

He held her tight and rocked slowly, wanting her to feel safe when she finally came out of whatever vision was currently haunting her. This was not her first nightmare in their time together. It would be impossible not to have them with all she had been through.

This one seemed particularly bad. He rubbed her back gently in slow, calm circles.

"Lyds… Come on, baby girl. Wake up for me… you're safe. Daddy's got ya… no one's gonna hurt ya…"

* * *

Suddenly, the blows weren't landing anymore. Something solid, cold, and soft had encapsulated her, blocking her fragile, battered form from any further abuse. It was long minutes before she came to and realized what had happened.

This wasn't the first time she had woken with him like this in the night. Her nightmares were becoming fewer and further between, but they still lingered. This one was intense, leaving her a weak, pathetic, hurting thing in his arms in the aftermath.

_"Why did they hate me_ _ **so much**_ _…?"_ She sobbed into his chest, lost in the throes of the bad memories. He would chase them away yet, but for now, they haunted.

_"Please don't bring me back there, please please please please_ _**please** _ _don't bring me back there…"_

* * *

"Never." He insisted emphatically.

His arms tightened around her small frame, cradling her close while she sobbed and shuddered. He hated seeing her like this. Perhaps his errand needed to come earlier than morning.

Remove the hive and the bees can't sting.

With a firm kiss to her temple, he lulled Lydia tumbling into a deep, calm sleep. He rubbed her back in slow circles for a moment before vanishing.

He returned several hours later and ran his hand through his hair, brushing a bit of ash off his shoulder before he wandered into the bathroom to shave. He didn't do it by hand often, only when he needed to think. And think he did, a cruel smirk stuck to his features as he thought through what people would say.

_Did you hear? That foster family up the street… Yes, the whole house, right to the ground. It's strange, they don't know how the fire started… or how it burned hot enough to cremate the remains._


	12. Chapter 12

When Lydia awoke from her deep, dreamless slumber, she was alone. Well, not totally alone. Fuzzy babies flanked her sides, drawing contentment from their mother's perfect calm. After making sure their needs were seen to, cooking herself a breakfast of hot oatmeal with honey and fresh-picked berries, and cleaning both herself and any messes left behind from her toddling about, she decided it was high time she got to exploring her castle.

She didn't lie to her husband when she told him she wouldn't leave the grounds. She wouldn't. The tunnels were a part of the castle. He hadn't explicitly forbidden her from going back there‒ the site of that miserable attempt to run away the night of her ball.

_Stupid_.

She hadn't been prepared at all back then; no flashlight, no camera, glass heels, and that big poofy dress. This time would go much simpler. Donning dark riding pants, sturdy boots, and a violet blouse loose enough to flow comfortably but tight enough to not snag on brick, she was ready.

"Be good," she bid each baby farewell with a kiss on their little heads. Before making the descent, she didn't forget to grab her old backpack from the foster home. It still had her sketchbook in it, and what if she wanted to stop and draw?

* * *

When he finished his shave, it occurred to him that the house was far too quiet. He couldn't hear the tell-tale sound of his wife's soft breaths, only the tiny snores of their pets, the two of which had gone back to bed in their mother's absence.

Frowning severely, he wandered the castle at a slow pace, sure he would find his girl hanging about in one of her usual haunts, but when he found the library, kitchen, and garden all empty he started to worry. A more frantic search didn't bring her out of wherever she was, and he was starting to worry. He called for her but got no answer.

_Where the hell was she?_ She promised to stay put.

Then, a scratching sound caught his attention. It was Hestia, whining and clawing at the door to Lydia's wardrobe. His heart sank into his feet as he realized what had happened.

_The tunnels._

* * *

The tunnels were _amazing_. Now that her heart wasn't splintered into thousands of pieces, she could fully enjoy the shadowy enclaves for what they were. _An adventure_. There were booby traps, but nothing too much for her to handle.

The first was a bed of spikes at the bottom of a steep hole down one corridor, but easy to miss holes in the wall and a jutting edge made it fairly simple to shimmy by. The next pit was filled with _crocodiles_ , nothing but a rickety board connecting the gap. Lydia stayed there for a long while, feet dangling over the edge and her flashlight strategically aimed at the scaly beauties to better highlight their features for her photos and sketches.

At first, they snapped and snarled, but they were sweet and calmed eventually the more she talked to them. She left them with a smile and a _"see you later"_ as she breezily, gracefully crossed the board to explore further. Under the average person's weight, it might have cracked and fed any trespassers to the hungry fossils, but for Lydia, it didn't even groan a complaint.

Unbidden, her thoughts traveled to her wonderful husband. What was he doing to keep him so busy today? Surely, something very important and adult and interesting. Struck bubbly and fuzzy just thinking about him, very much enjoying her outing, she began to sing; loud and clear and beauteous with the light of joy shining through her voice.

_"'L' is for the way you look at me,  
'O' is for the only one I see,  
'V' is very very… extraordinary!  
'E' is even more than anyone that you adore could…"_

* * *

Betelgeuse had taken to the tunnels at a sprint, horrified to find that Lydia's backpack, camera, and sketchbook were all gone. She ran again… took the opportunity of his absence to make a dash out of the castle and his afterlife in one fell swoop.

_If he found her…_

He didn't need a light, but summoned one anyhow, holding a ball of squirming, twisting light not unlike the glow from a firefly as he advanced down the dark passages where he assumed his wife might be hiding. Across a pit of spikes, and a quick snack thrown to the crocodiles was not much of a delay to him. Panic, hurt and fear were running his actions and thoughts as he desperately sought Lydia.

Then, just like before, the sound of her soft and delicate voice came from ahead of him. His emotions twisted.

She sounded so _happy_.

Where did she get off running away when he strictly forbade it? Why was she so pleased with herself?

Why was she walking toward that hallway where poison darts would fly out of the walls at her?

" _ **LYDIA!"**_

* * *

As if summoned by her song, that wonderful gravelly baritone soared through the air calling out her name, and Lydia perked up even more. With perfect timing, she stopped just before triggering the tripwire that would have sent her to an early grave.

"Beej!" She cried out, beaming down the corridor at him with a smile that made her flashlight and his supernatural lantern seem weak and pale in comparison. She couldn't quite see him through the dark. Didn't see the way his jaw was clenched, muscles tense and bunched, ready to snap.

"I've been having so much _fun!"_ She began skipping his way, but it was a long, dark hall, the length affording her time to talk. "There are _crocodiles_ down here! I didn't know Ireland had crocodiles! They're so _pretty!_ I got so many good pictures! Look‒"

By the time she was standing in front of him and had fished her camera up to show off the haul, his eerily still silence finally registered.

"Is something wro…"

Their eyes met. What little blood was there to color her cheeks drained. He was _furious_. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. She had her backpack. She brought snacks and water with her. She was dressed for an adventure. _He thought she was running away_.

"Beej." Instinctively, the animal part of her sensing danger, she stepped back, making sure every inch of him was within her line of sight. "It's‒ it's not what it looks like. _I promise._ "

* * *

"Never is, _is it_? Wasn't what it looked like last time neither."

He scowled down at her. She seemed so happy. Her smile bright when she approached only to fade when she saw…

He was always killing her happiness. Why else would she want to leave him?

He couldn't allow it, though, and quickly pulled her into his arms. His magical flame was bouncing across the floor and over the tripwire, the darts that would have meant her death shooting through the hallway and bouncing off the other side.

"Next time ya try t'leave me, do it through the front door like every other woman."

He was quiet as he hauled her back up to their home, the light distant where he'd left the wardrobe door ajar in his haste. He couldn't help but think about every awful thing he had done to her in that moment. Maybe she was right… was leaving an abusive home into one where you were expected of so much really fair?

He expected her to stay put, to care for the animals, the garden… to care for _him_. Perhaps it was too much for her.

_It didn't matter._

She chose to come with him and be his wife. She should have _known_.

As soon as they were back in the safety of their bedroom, his grip tightened painfully.

"You said you'd stay put."

* * *

"I _don't want_ to leave you!"

Her whole world was falling apart. _Again_. He was going to throw her out, bring her back to _that place_. It was the only option that made sense. His poor heart could only take so much hurt. How could she have done this to him _again!?_

"Please believe me! _Please!"_

No moves were made to fight or squirm away from his bruising grip. Instead, she clung to him like a lost, traumatized child reunited with their momentarily misplaced parent. To Lydia, if he let her down it might be the last time he ever held her.

"I only wanted to see! As soon as I reached the end or got tired, I was gonna turn around! _I love you so much, Daddy,"_ she wept pitifully into his taut neck, "I'm sorry, _I'm so sorry_ , I just‒ I just‒ _I'm so stupid_ ‒ Please don't‒ _don't‒_ "

Panic began to set in, quickening her breaths to the point of hyperventilation and chopping her begging to pieces.

* * *

He scowled as she wept and made excuses. Glancing around the room, he realized that he had perhaps overreacted. Her wardrobe was still full of her clothes, the bed was made and the pets seemed calm…

Well, shit. He couldn't very well admit that he'd freaked out, could he? This girl worshiped him like a god.

He didn't make mistakes.

He rubbed a hand down her back, his grip on her still tight to the point of almost pain.

"My love… you scared me. You see that don't ya? I came home and yer gone with yer camera, yer backpack… all the stuff ya took with ya when… when ya ran away from me…"

He sighed and pulled her back to look at him.

"I asked ya to stay put. From now on, I don't want ya goin' down there without Daddy, okay? You could get hurt and then what would I do?"

He kissed her, not a gentle thing like when he'd been withholding sex, but a rough and punishing thing meant to make claim. Or reclaim, as it was. His hand was tight in her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

* * *

_Oh, thank God_. Everything was okay. Just as quickly as her Earth shattered, he put it all back together again from the foundation up, reminding her of her place with a choking tongue and a grimy fist tangled at her nape. She wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, thank you very much.

"I won't," she gasped the promise once given freedom to breathe, lips dark and puffy from abuse. "I didn't‒ didn't _think_. It's _in_ the castle and I wasn't supposed to leave _the castle_ and‒ _stupid stupid stupid_ …"

He was hard in his trousers. She could feel him pressing up against her as her thighs clenched tight around his hips. Lydia knew better than to see this as a sure thing. He might see the still-drying tears on her cheeks as a sign that she didn't want it. Desperate to wipe any ridiculous misconceptions like that away and keep his attention on her, she writhed against him, pushing their covered privates together feverishly as her lips found his neck to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses.

_"Fuck me…"_ she husked low in his ear, seducing, unwilling to let him go so soon after nearly losing him in her mind's eye. "I _need_ you…"

* * *

_Damn, he trained her well._

Her sweet pleading was like music to his ears. He grinned as her hips canted against his and her lips met with the clammy skin of his neck. He knew better than to think she was doing this out of anything but shame and obligation, but hell… He would take it when he could get it.

She so rarely instigated intimacy that he was immediately more aroused than when he would start them off. He easily laid her out on her back, snapping his fingers to summon a towel under her hips. She was so attached to the nice white sheets, and she was still on her period… He wouldn't want her to be upset when they were done.

He nipped at her ear gently, pushing her down into the pillows with a smirk.

"Ya ask so pretty, kitten… How am I s'posed to deny ya?"

His hands raked up her thighs, taking her skirt with them as they sought out her hips, then her belly. So soft and smooth… _flat_.

Perhaps it was time to change that… after all, a woman so rarely left the father of her children.

His smirk became a sneer… this was a good plan he'd hatched for himself. A sure-fire way to keep his little wife who so loved traditionalism right where he wanted her. A child was needed. And could easily be willed into existence with enough notice.

* * *

The possibility of an unplanned pregnancy was the furthest thing from Lydia's mind, unlike her nefarious husband. Only once he was hunched over her and absolving her of clothing did she remember the mess between her thighs.

"Wait‒!"

It was too late now. She didn't really want to stop because of something so trivial anyway. The real concern lied with Betelgeuse's reaction and he seemed entirely unfazed, drawing reverent grimy claws over the plush plane of her slightly filled out tummy.

He had made sure to feed her well. Next, they trailed over her hips, feeling out the padding there. _Adequate._ All the while, she panted below him, caught in the crosshairs of too many emotions to sort; relief and fear and shame and guilt, all tied together with a thick, unyielding strap of lust.

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

With far too large, far too trusting eyes she gazed up at him, rattled further by the ugly sneer he was giving her. Whatever bravado she had drawn upon to get them here was all used up, crumbling away under the intense way he was regarding her.

"It was an _accident_."

* * *

"Accident? Baby….even so. Don't you want to show Daddy how sorry you are?"

He grinned down at her viciously, the slick crimson between her thighs barely registering with him. As far as he was concerned, a little mess never hurt anyone. His hands found her knees and spread them easily, a snap of his fingers banishing any remaining barriers between them. With her panting beneath him, he could almost forgive her the accidental slight.

_Almost._

His cock was hard where it pressed into her hip, just where her thigh met her body. He had become accustomed to having her in his arms‒ or on his cock‒ nearly every moment of every day. The time apart was harder on him than he would ever admit aloud, and he certainly wasn't going to tell his wife how much he was affected.

"Come on, sweet thing… Tell me again. Say you're sorry…"

* * *

There was a nastiness in his smile that Lydia was not immune to despite his contrarily saccharine tone. It wasn't enough to make her disobey, not with how thoroughly he had her caged in, thick arms punching sturdy and immovable into the mattress on either side of her disheveled form.

He was _planning_ something. The not knowing made her hesitate.

"I…" she gulped, daring to reach up and trail gentle fingertips along and the stubbly, mossy terrain of his cheeks. "I'm _sorry_."

Words weren't enough. She had betrayed him, she reminded herself, albeit by accident. He had a right to be upset. She owed him. _So, so much more than she could ever repay_.

"I _want_ to be good… I _want_ to make you happy…"

It seemed like she was always upsetting him one way or another. When would he tire of it and just get rid of her? Spurred on by the terrible thought, she forced trembling thighs to spread wider in an invitation, showcasing her flexibility for him in a way she never had before. At the same time, she arched and pulled her top off over her head, leaving her torso bared to his mercy.

"Please… _please don't send me away_ …"

* * *

"Send you away? Oh, sweet girl… you know I won't do that. I worked too hard to get ya here in the first place!"

He appreciated her act of submission, his eyes following her shirt as it flew off the bed before returning to the offered ivory of her flesh. She was still thin, though not deathly so as she'd been when she arrived, and the cool air of the bedroom immediately beaded her soft pink nipples into attention.

"You just keep showin' me how sorry you are n' I'll forgive ya… soon."

He dropped his face to one offered breast, moaning softly as he sealed his mouth around her. Clawed hands raked over her ribs, coming to rest in the soft flesh of her hips.

* * *

"O-oh‒" she gasped sharply as she always did when the peak of her warm breast was sucked into the frigid cavern of his mouth. She would stop feeling the cold soon but for now it drew goosebumps all along lily-white flesh, her nipple achingly hard and sensitive to his sucking and nibbling.

"Ah‒ ah‒ _ah!"_ The stimulation alone was sending her into fits, back arching into the bed in reflex to get away even as her hips bucked up against him, seeking penetration. She hadn't forgotten her duty here.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she rambled on, labored breaths never calming. "I'll stay here until I die. Longer. I'll _never_ leave you. Even if you stop loving me… I'll be yours _forever._.."

* * *

He was satisfied with the promises, her pleading growing more frantic by the moment. That was exactly what he was going for. A desperate and frightened wife was always one that obeyed. He learned that lesson young and never forgot it.

Pulling away from her heaving chest to pull her into a bruising kiss, his sharp nails ran down her sides, just barely avoiding breaking skin. Her hips stuttered against his, clearly asking for the show to get on the road. If she was going to be so eager for it, perhaps he needed to fuck her more often.

His cock slid into her in one steady push, an animalistic growl leaving him as he pressed his hips flush to her thighs.

"Fuck! That's right…. Yer gonna be mine forever, pet…. gonna be my wife _always_ ain't ya, Lyds?"

* * *

"Always," she panted her agreement without missing a beat, even through the ache of taking him on again. "For‒ _ever_ …"

Her speech hitched as he sunk deeper, then deeper still, until the full weight of him was pushing uncomfortably at the limitations of her inner parts, her fingernails‒ short and blunt compared to his‒ burying into his biceps to stabilize herself. Was everything fine now? He was still grimacing nastily, though she doubted her expression was any more attractive.

_"Fuck…_ " Lydia rarely cursed, such filthy words only forming on her pure, innocent lips whenever he dragged her down to his level‒ and further. "Ahhh," she hissed as he stilled finally above her, lashes fluttering and heart pounding in stark contrast to his deathly stillness, unpleasantness still frozen on his ugly mug.

"I love you," she huffed again through the initial, mandatory discomfort, reassuring him still of her devotion. Just in case. "So… _so much…_ "

* * *

He grinned at her soft moans and whimpers, the dull sting of her fingernails only heightening his arousal. It was clear to him that he had pushed her past the point of any real competent thought, her delicate form arching under him with each sharp thrust he aimed at her.

He knew she would inevitably forget any cruelty he inflicted on her in that moment. After all, she had already forgiven and forgotten so much. It seemed he could do anything to her and she'd still be along for the ride.

_I love you…. So so much…_

The pure adoration that came with the words gave him pause. Up until now, he'd assumed that any confessions of love had come from a place of teenaged veneration. After all, how many men did his little Lyds know?

For the first time, he found himself actually believing the words, and his thrusts slowed as his muddled thoughts clicked into place. Perhaps he didn't just want her here to get her on his good side… He could talk her into taking him anywhere now. Wasn't that the goal from the beginning?

No… that wasn't what he wanted now. Now he just wanted _her_ , and perhaps a bouncing baby to round her out and keep her tied to him for good. After all, where would Lydia go? Sixteen and pregnant was a hard thing to be. He could make sure she never got too far from him.

But… perhaps that was selfish. Were she anyone else, he might have never thought twice, but… this girl was really something.

"I love you too, princess… Ya know that… I ain't ever givin' you up…"

* * *

"Ohhhh," she moaned long and sweet in time with his returned vocalization of her affections, physical and emotional pleasures mingling to float her up on a tingling cloud of euphoria. There was pain, of course. It was just a part of the deal when it came to him, but _fuck_ it was worth it. She wouldn't have him any other way, especially when it was so clear how _happy_ he was.

Tiny heels dug into his back as she held on tighter, sweat-slicked thighs slipping higher up his hips to tighten her already clenching insides. The change spurred him on to a new intensity like she hoped it would.

_"Daddy!"_ She held on tighter still. He fucked harder. His grandmother's bed frame groaned a weak protest, Lydia practically bouncing back up off of the mattress with the force of his lunges. Percy and Tia jostled in their sleep, perturbed by Mommy and Daddy's noises but ultimately unbothered. By the time her orgasm came shrieking through the air, they were already fast asleep.

* * *

What was one orgasm in the grander scheme of things? He would have to do better if he was going to remind her how desperately she needed him. When her convulsions passed, he barely skipped a beat, drawing back only to flip her onto her stomach and push right back into her tight, wet heat. His weight was likely too much for her like this, but he found he couldn't be bothered caring.

"Good girl, Lydia…. that's a good girl…."

His thrusts took on a savage edge, his hips snapping against her plump rear as he forced her onward in their coupling. She could have tried to push him off, but there was no point. What he wanted, he would get.

* * *

His palms were tight and bruising on her shoulders, the entirety of his weight crushing her into the mattress while he continued having his way. Her knuckles were ghostly white wrapped around the headboard, arms stretched outreaching over her head in a weak attempt at freedom.

She couldn't really help such a reaction. He was _monstrous_ as he was now, using her for everything she was worth with reckless abandon. With brutal ferocity, he was able to wrench yet another climax from her aching center, one that had her crying out nonsensical pleas for mercy. In between tortured, overwhelmed shrieks, she worked in words like _"please"_ and _"slow down"_ and _"too much"_ , but he was beyond hearing her.

Her thighs and his groin were a bloody mess, the ferocious rutting spreading her moon's blood everywhere. If she had the capacity to be embarrassed, she would have been, but animal instinct to escape the onslaught took precedence. It was a pathetic effort. Soon, as always, she went limp to the attack, fingers slackening along the bedframe and hoarse screams weakening to precious little moans and whimpers as adrenalin failed her, pain and pleasure mingling to cloud her assaulted senses.

* * *

When he had wrenched a third, even more devastating orgasm from his poor, pitiful wife, he abandoned sadism and finally started working toward his own end, eyes shut tight to focus on his goal. If all went as planned, he would be bouncing a baby on his knee in less than a year and then she could never leave him. Even in the event of her death, they would be bound with the child this night had created.

He rolled away when he was satisfied and spent, his chest pitching up and down with unneeded breaths. He glanced over at his Lydia where she was shivering and bloodsoaked on the nice white sheets. She made quite the picture. Like a virgin sacrifice, if it weren't for her heaving chest and soft panting.

"Damn, baby… I swear ya get better every time."

He vanished the blood and other fluids that had gathered in his crotch, grimacing at the way they had dripped into the thick, wiry hair at the base of his cock. He shook his head and reached for Lydia, ready to clean her up and put her to bed now that his vengeance was enacted.

"Now… you ain't gonna scare Daddy like that ever again, right? Next time I won't be so nice." He carried her into the bathroom, where, like always, the tub was already filling itself with steaming water.

* * *

It took Lydia significantly longer than her villainous husband to recover. Really, she didn't fully become aware of the world around her until he was lowering her into scalding water, submerging her by her numb, jelly-like lower half first.

"I'm sorry," she croaked softly, voice hoarse from misuse. She wouldn't be singing any more happy, pretty songs for a couple days or so. In record time, a honeyed mug of chamomile materialized at the edge of the tub without need of request. She never did have to ask him for anything. He just _knew_.

"I know it was _bad_ … and I shouldn't have… but I drew pictures. _Down there_. If you want to look."

Lydia regretted telling him as soon as the words formed, but thirst for his praise and validation were strong.

"I drew you. And me. Together. I think they're pretty good… Not _great_ , but‒ pretty good."

* * *

He frowned, encouraging her to sip her tea while he went and collected the sketchbook from her bag. The snake on the cover hissed at him viciously, but he simply snapped it sharply on the nose and opened the book anyhow.

As she said, it was full of sketches from down in the tunnels. There was one of the two of them, hands clasped with, a torch lighting them from the stone wall. Another depicted the two of them tossing treats to the alligators in his pit. The reptiles in her drawing looked excited and almost pleasant.

The more he looked, the more guilty he felt. She couldn't know that, of course, but he felt it. She really hadn't been running away again… she was just exploring. He snapped the book shut and set it aside, reaching into the tub to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

"Those are real nice, babes. We should frame 'em. But listen… I don't like givin' ya rules. Ya know that, right? Well, Daddy has a new rule for you… You're not allowed to go down into those tunnels alone. You understand?"

* * *

"I won't."

The promise came swiftly, without hesitation, almost before he was done speaking‒ but not. She wouldn't dare interrupt. Fear colored her tone, but not enough to soften him. Too much of her had been drained by their furious rutting for it to show through that much, not to mention the warm glow within from his praise of her artwork‒ brief and half hearted as it was.

"I understand."

But she didn't. Not really. She understood that she had hurt him, and that she never wanted to do anything to put herself in his poor graces ever again. Everything was so much better when he was happy. Therefore, she would subscribe to whatever silly "rules" he put in place. He wasn't asking a lot, really. The tunnels weren't _that_ great, and they would only be more fun with his supervision.

Besides, there were still rooms upon rooms in the interior of the castle that she had yet to even step foot in. Not that she wanted him to take off on her again any time soon and give her the opportunity. Speaking of…

"Where did you go?"

It probably wasn't wise to question him so soon after re-winning his favor, but she couldn't help herself. Kittens were prone to their curiosities.

* * *

"I told ya, baby. I had an errand to run. Nothin' ya gotta worry about."

He smiled at her, knowing the gesture would soften her further, and leaned over her steaming cup of tea to press a kiss to her swollen lips.

"I got it handled. That's all you need to know… Now, c'mon kitten, let Daddy wash yer hair."


	13. Chapter 13

Weeks passed. Betel swore to the heavens that if she wasn't pregnant, he had no problem with fighting a God.

No period. Maybe it was thrown off again? He had no idea… the last pregnant woman he'd dealt with had been horrendously ill almost immediately! Of course… his Lydia _had_ to be different.

It wasn't until he was actively trying to gross her out that he got any sort of out of the ordinary behavior at all. He had been sitting in the library while she read to him, some story about a girl sassing the man who wanted to marry her. He was not really invested. What did catch his attention was that as he popped flies from the windowsills into his mouth, Lydia was watching him.

Very closely.

Without her usual disgust.

He raised an eyebrow. Popped a fly. _She licked her lips._

"Y'okay, babes?"

* * *

They looked so _tasty_. Unaware that she had stopped reading to watch him, she paid the utmost scrutiny to the way his supernaturally long tongue curled around each little morsel. _Crunch_. Her stomach panged with want.

_Y'okay, babes?_

Like that, she snapped out of it, eyes wide with embarrassment at being caught ogling.

"I'm fine!"

The answer came too loud and shrill. Lydia was acutely aware of it, refocusing her attention on _Pride & Prejudice _with an overcompensating renewed intensity. It was a worthless effort. Within minutes, she was back to watching him, peeking over the edge of the book's pages to focus in on the scrumptious little corpses he kept popping in his mouth.

Better to address the matter first before he did.

"What… what do they _taste_ like…?"

* * *

He chewed at his fly, thinking through the answer to her question. In truth, she was the only thing that tasted like anything at all to him… He ate the insects out of habit, and because it grossed people out. Not because they tasted good. He picked up one particularly plump fly and set it in front of her.

"Why don't ya try? Can't hurt ya. I mean, I ate bugs in life and I turned out great!"

He grinned to himself. This was it! It had to be… Nothing could make his sweet, innocent wife want to join him in entomophagy other than bearing his child... It had to be. He sat up from where he'd been lounging to rub her back gently.

"I mean if it looks good to ya… nothin' stoppin' ya. Just one…"

* * *

Lydia was conflicted. Higher thought violently rejected the idea even as her tummy curdled and cried out with want. Indecision showed on her face as she squirmed and stared at the not-so-generous offering. He was right though, wasn't he? What was the worst that could happen?

_You love it._

Grimacing further, she ever so hesitantly reached out to take it, comforted by the large, cold hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Everything she had ever known to be true and right was flying out the window in this moment, her world view teetering as her stomach growled.

"This is wrong…"

The smallish whisper was a plea for help, but Satan knew her dastardly husband wouldn't be coming to the rescue. Nearly in tears, she yanked off the bandaid, throwing the little bug into her mouth and sealing her lips before instinct could let her spit it out. Long seconds passed. The cartilage in her throat shuddered as she swallowed it down. _Ambrosia_.

Given a taste, and with his permission spurring her on, her hunger sparked alive at full throttle.

"More," she demanded, forgetting herself, gaze flickering over the windowsill. _Empty_. Damn. "I want more. I don't know why, I just‒ I'm so _hungry_. Do you know where I can find more?"

* * *

He couldn't help but chuckle as she popped the fly into her mouth and seemingly had a revelation. Her soft, honey-colored eyes widened and she started looking for _more._ To say he was pleasantly shocked would be an understatement. A gleeful cackle left him and he took her hand, leading her out of the library.

"O' course I do, kitten! I got stashes all over the place."

He ran his hand lovingly over her stomach. He saw no other explanation… she had to be pregnant. His plan set in motion to keep her with him for all time. This was a thrilling development. Nothing better than his plan coming together.

The garden was his favorite place to rummage for bugs. He settled his wife in her favorite patio chair and went to collect them a snack. Beetles and worms were quickly dispatched and put into a bowl. He even found a centipede, licking his lips as he brought the haul back to Lydia.

"Here ya go, babes. Insect A La Mode."

* * *

" _What's wrong with me?"_ She groaned painfully with a mouthful of half-chewed vermin, some of them still kicking back against her tongue in protest of their grim demise. It was. So. _Fucking. Good_. Fully bawling now, disgusted with herself, she bit the centipede clear in half.

She couldn't get enough. Soon, the bowl was empty, but she couldn't bring herself to ask for more. Tia yipped and pouted until Lydia stooped down to collect her, the pup vicariously distressed by her mother's upset. The sour taste of oil and slick guts was still coating her tongue. While logically she knew that it was disgusting and foul and she shouldn't want more, she _hungered_ , despairing at the sight of the empty bowl before her.

Where had this come from? It was _unnatural_.

"B-Beej," she sniveled, frightened by her traitorous body's sudden unsettling cravings. "I think‒ I'm _sick_. This isn't‒ it's not right. _Help me."_

* * *

Aw, she was so upset. Didn't she understand that sometimes a hunger had to be met? After all, why did she think he started eating bugs in the first place? A lack of other sustenance resulted in desperate measures.

"Darlin', maybe we should… look into a pregnancy test? We ain't exactly been careful… n' we both know the bug eatin' could be somewhere infectin' my genetics. Yer right… this ain't like you."

He rubbed a large hand down her back, trying to soothe her worries. He could tell this was bothering her more than he'd expected it to. Still, he couldn't help but be intrigued by this new side of his wife. He could tell this was a startling concept for Lydia, her eyes widening as she looked at him. He held up his hands as though confessing his innocence.

"Just sayin' babes. Dunno if we should rule it out."

* * *

_What the fuck was he talking about?_ Pregnant!? It was absurd! Impossible! She _couldn't_ be, she just couldn't! For a long while, she stared at him, wrought with shock and horror at the very suggestion.

"You're dead," were the first words out her mouth after he dropped the bomb; a grounding fact that proved the insanity of what he was saying. It came out unnaturally quiet and calm despite her clear distress.

_You're alive_ , her mind supplied in petty disagreement as she noticed an innocent beetle crawling through the grass and felt a sick urge to swallow it down.

He was right. It couldn't be ruled out as a possibility.

"I can't… be _pregnant_." Her voice cracked, tiny hands curling over her belly as if she could somehow feel the threat of burgeoning life that might have been dwelling. "I'm too _young_. _We're_ too young! I can't!"

* * *

He was quick to comfort her, rubbing her back gently as the suggestion settled into her. She was clearly disturbed, but he couldn't help but feel excitement settle into his stomach.

"I know, babes... But these things happen to crazy newlyweds all the time! We can just… take a walk down into town and get a test. No harm no foul."

He picked her up and settled her on his lap, reaching for the beetle for himself. Maybe she would keep wanting the bugs, but for now, he was loathed to feed them to her. If she really was pregnant, she would need to eat right and get vitamins that insects couldn't provide. A hand on her back led her toward the gate, guiding her off the grounds and down the hill, hell-bent on getting to the pharmacy as quickly as her short, mortal legs would allow.

* * *

His efforts at comforting were appreciated but meant little to his teenage bride. Their walk down the hill into town saw her pretty face crumpled with uncertainty while her ghostly husband chatted her up, invisible to all but her. For all intents and purposes, she appeared nothing more than a lonely, troubled girl holding herself to stave off the cold.

Eyes watched her from a distance. Neither ghost nor girl noticed.

He wasn't allowed to follow her into the bathroom after giving her money to purchase the three most expensive tests they had available. Lydia beelined for the single-stall restroom at the back of the small, sad building after saying thank you to the snide old woman running the register. She didn't have to say anything derogatory. Her wrinkled sneer conveyed plenty.

Panicked thoughts filtered through Lydia's head at a record pace while she waited, pacing back and forth across the off-white but technically clean tile. Waiting and waiting and waiting, unconcerned for the equally impatient yet disturbingly unrattled poltergeist on the other side of the door. When she finally emerged, her hands and knees were shaking. She looked as she did that first night in their honeymoon suite; ghastly white, terrified, and ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

"I want… to go home…"

* * *

He paced as he waited, the teenaged attendant keeping a close eye on the bathroom. He was sure he thought Lydia was doing something obscene in there, but he couldn't be pressed to care. When she reemerged, he‒ still invisible to all but her‒ pulled her out of the attendant's line of sight, a large hand rubbing up and down her arm slowly in an attempt to provide calm.

He carefully took the test from her trembling hand and looked at it. There, clear as day and in plain English.

_**Pregnant.** _

"Yeah… yeah, baby let's go home." He looked around them as though he were smuggling something out. The vaguely familiar teenager was watching Lydia with rapt attention. Betelgeuse was too distracted to notice when the kid snapped a picture on his phone, a nasty sort of grin sliding over his face.

* * *

Upon their arrival back to the castle‒ as soon as she was out of sight of civilization, he _wooshed_ them back directly to the bedroom‒ she broke down. These were not happy tears. Once again, her world was tumbling down around her. How was she supposed to take care of a _baby?_ She could barely take care of herself!

And why was Betelgeuse so calm? As if he'd fathered a thousand freaks of nature and this was just another notch in his paternal belt. That was a distressing thought. Paired with how she caught a mystery insect leg stuck inbetween her molars, it made her stomach roil and curdle until she was flying across the room to lock herself in the bathroom and expel all the half-digested vermin into the toilet.

Logically, she knew that Betelgeuse could just phase through the wood and stone if he wanted in badly enough, but she couldn't stomach looking at his calm, _happy_ face. Sweating and shaking, she slid down the door to sit on the ground, bury her face in her knees, and _think_.

What were her options here, really? There weren't any. Daddy would be calling all the shots.

* * *

He respected her need to hideaway for a moment. Perhaps he should have pretended to be more surprised. He sighed and leaned against the bathroom door. This was going to be a struggle. She'd already started having odd, otherworldly symptoms. He couldn't think of an instance where a hybrid child like theirs had been born. Something in the back of his mind wondered if it was illegal.

Like he cared.

He knocked gently, waiting to hear movement on the other side of the door.

"Baby? Talk t'me… tell me what yer feelin' in there. Can't help ya if I dunno what's wrong!"

He knew her well enough now to know what was likely running through her mind. He couldn't fix this though. The modern medicine he heard of terrified him. He couldn't allow her to undergo such a procedure.

"Lydia. Open the door."

* * *

She didn't obey immediately, the voices in her head screaming too loud for his gravelly baritone to get through the haze. When it did, she only half-listened, unlocking the knob and sliding to where she would be hidden behind the door whenever he got around to opening it.

She was being silly. It wasn't kind of her to hide from him and be silent, but it was hard to make the right and proper words form on her tongue. Thoughts and opinions that wouldn't get her into hotter water than she already was. She waited until he was inside and an uncomfortable amount of time had passed before speaking, wet cheeks buried in her knees.

_"I'm too young to be a Mom,"_ she sniffled, imagining how disappointed Adam and Barbara and her parents would be, the cruel things that her foster family and other children at school might have said if they ever found out.

_"I don't know how."_ She just wasn't ready, and Betelgeuse would never understand that. Couldn't.

* * *

He opened the door carefully, worried that he might hit her if he opened it too quickly. He didn't want to hurt her on top of all of this. When he found her crouched in the corner, his eyes shut tight while he tried to calm the warring factions of his brain. On one hand, he was beyond thrilled. His plan had worked. He had locked his Lydia down for life. She would _never_ leave a child of hers behind… and he would never let her take his child and disappear.

Sitting beside her, he kept a healthy distance between them just in case she still didn't want to be touched.

"Baby girl, no one knows how to be a mom. Or a dad! Hell, most people ain't even know how to be people. But they figure it out. So will we." He looked over at her and smiled softly. "Yer ma n' Chuck figured it out. Hell, Delia figured it out. Sorta… as much as she's got anythin' figured out… We can do it, babes. I'm sure of it."

He chuckled to himself and smirked. "Besides, yer gonna look hotter'n hell all round n' glowin' with life inside ya."

He could tell none of this was helping.

"We could uh… go see yer folks, I s'pose. Get some advice."

* * *

"Do you have kids?"

It seemed so stupid of her to have not asked until now. As much as he clearly enjoyed the opposite sex, it wasn't out of the question that he may have fathered a babe or two or _three_. He had living descendants, didn't he? Thinking about it made her head ache and tummy churn. No wonder he was so calm and cool. It didn't _mean anything_ to him.

_We could uh… go see yer folks, I suppose. Get some advice._

At once that churning in her stomach intensified even as her heart cried out at the prospect. She missed them all so badly, even Delia. They would _hate_ to see her like this. But would they hate her? The not knowing for sure one way or another only exacerbated that building sense of dread in her belly. Or maybe that was just the "life" growing inside of her.

"I don't _want_ to be pregnant."

Immediately, she felt like the worst woman in the world for daring to say such a thing to her wonderful, forgiving husband who loved her. It's not like this was his fault. He was so _happy_. She didn't need to look at him to know, his joy was a bright and tangible thing even through the nauseating despair she exuded.

"Barbara would know what to do."

* * *

"No kids, nah. My sister had some, I'm sure. After all, we got kids runnin' around nowadays with a little BJ blood."

He chuckled at the thought. His sister had never been an endearing woman. When she was married at fifteen, she took off running and didn't look back. His mind went to the tombstone in the old churchyard and his smile fell.

_I don't want to be pregnant_.

He had heard that before.

He looked at her and nodded, his face slowly becoming more and more solemn.

"There was a girl. When I was 'bout eighteen n' startin' my trade." He didn't want to talk about this. Why was he telling her? Pity? For her or himself? "She got knocked up. Convinced me it was mine until the lil' guy was born, then married his real dad n' took off with the money I gave her."

He patted her knee gently.

"The lil' boy didn't make it for long. He wasn't quite right from the get go but… I paid to give him a funeral. 'Cause she _begged me_ to make sure her child didn't go to… to hell."

He knew now that no such place existed. He had no clue where little George Baker was now, and hadn't sought him out.

"What I'm sayin is... this is all you. It's your choice. If now ain't right for kids, it ain't right. Least now we know we can!"

He shook himself like a dog flinging off water, trying to expel the _feelings_. It was a horrible lie he was telling solely for her comfort. It was most certainly _not_ her choice, but he could let her believe it was if it got him what he wanted.

"Babs is a great idea. Let's go now."

* * *

The knowledge alone that she _could_ get an abortion if she wanted one… _if_ … made everything feel that much simpler. There was an out. She wasn't trapped for the next nine months‒ _eighteen years_. His story, however, dug her into a deeper hole of guilt. How could she even _think_ of doing such a thing?

How could she _not?_

"Hold me," she begged, still curled up in her compact little ball. When striped arms came to wrap around her completely, she decompressed, letting loose deep shuddering breaths against his neck. She became weightless as he lifted her up from the ground, and though she didn't watch to see it happen, she could feel the universe churning and displacing around them as his magic plucked them from their sphere of space and dropped them somewhere else on the globe entirely.

It was dark, but Lydia could make out the strangely built white house on the hill. Couldn't miss it, actually. Nor could she miss the disrepaired **FOR SALE** sign creaking in the lawn, in danger of blowing over with the next strong gust of wind.

Indeed, Lydia could spot a haunted house from a mile away and this one was as haunted as they came. Two separate couples, each having drowned in the same river due to different incompetencies, each deprived of the opportunity to raise children, and each _hating_ the other for their shortcomings.

It was no wonder Jane Butterfield hadn't been able to pawn it off on anyone.

"They're here," she whispered over the howling wind, in case he was looking at this house through the eyes of a breather and seeing nothing more than an abandoned lot. "I _know_ they are. I can feel them."

* * *

He would never pass up an opportunity to hold his wife. He'd decided that the first time she'd actually let him wrap his arms around her. Even now, standing at the base of the hill that led to her extremely haunted childhood home, he didn't let go of her.

He nodded at her explanation that she could feel the ghosts within. She had always been sensitive, it seemed. What worried him was not that she could feel them, but the waves of negative energy pouring out of the walls. This wasn't the same house he haunted, that was for sure.

He squeezed her a little tighter as they wandered up toward the house. It had fallen into shambles after the Deetzess passing, at least on the exterior. Green and brown moss was creeping between the slats of the wooden siding, and the paint had started to flake off in places.

Spooky, even for him.

He scowled and glanced down at his wife.

"Ready for this?"


End file.
